


17-D-1 (Extreme Fall)

by KeepGoing



Series: Codes [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Bipolar Ian, Blowjobs, Bottom!Mickey, But he's also learning to break down his walls, Dispatcher Mickey, EMT Ian, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Ian is maybe a bit obsessive(but in the cutest way), Ian just wants to KNOW Mickey, M/M, Mandy ships them, Mickey is an asshole, Mickey is in denial, Rimming, This will hurt a little but it'll be fluffy and cute too, explicit sexy times, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25619983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeepGoing/pseuds/KeepGoing
Summary: ***This work is now complete***Ian Gallagher working as an EMT in Chicago falls for the voice on the other end of the walkie who dispatches him and his partner to their emergency calls everyday. He doesn't know who the voice belongs to, but there is just something about that voice that Ian cannot get out of his head. But when Ian finally puts a face to the voice he's talked to a thousand times, things don't go exactly how he wants them to. But with the help of meddling sisters and Ian's persistence, Ian's fantasy just might come true.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Codes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939483
Comments: 181
Kudos: 554





	1. Hopeless

**Author's Note:**

> I am so excited to write this one, guys. Its going to be so fluffy and cute its going to give you a cavity. Ian is going to be clumsy and idiotic in this fic, at least in the beginning, because he's never FELT this way or done this before with someone he doesn't KNOW. And Mickey is, well, Mickey <3
> 
> Every EMS code you read in this fic I looked up online, so I hope they are right. (Fingers crossed).
> 
> Each chapter will be split between Ian and Mickey as they slowly start to become a part of each other's worlds.  
> As always comments are LOVE. Enjoy~

  
  
  
**Is it worth the can you even hear me?  
Standing with your spotlight on me   
Not enough to feed the hungry   
I'm tired and I felt it for a while now   
In this sea of lonely   
The taste of ink is getting old   
It's four o' clock in the fucking morning   
Each day gets more and more like the last day**   
  
_“All units we have a 12-D-2 in progress. 1342 Roosevelt Ave. Unit 4. Any available units in the area who can assist?”_

Ian Gallagher scrambles so quickly to grab the rig’s walkie that he drops it, twice, before he’s able to push the button on the side to respond. “This is unit 327. We are two blocks out. We’ll take it.” His statement is coming out breathless and shaky and his partner, Sue, just shakes her head as she flips the lights on and pushes the peddle down all the way to the floor of the gas. 

“Shut up,” Ian grumbles and slumps back into his seat. 

“Fucking hopeless, Gallagher.” Sue snickers and turns a corner and Ian is pretty sure they go up on two wheels on that one. He grips the ‘oh shit’ handle and glares at his partner. 

“Easy for you to say. You’re happily married. You have someone.” 

“I don’t know about _happily._ ” Sue mumbles. Ian just rolls his eyes. Again. 

“But seriously though Gallagher. I’ve been hearing for months about this voice on the other end of that walkie. It's becoming a bit...obsessive.” She pushes the rig into park, roughly, outside the apartment building where the 12-D-2 is occurring; Continuous or multiple seizures. 

The thing is, Ian knows Sue is right. It's been about 3 months since that voice started giving them emergencies to tend to on his day shifts. 3 months of hearing that deep voice and sharp intakes of breath when they had to speak for longer than the 30 seconds it takes to lock down a call. The longest he’s ever spoken to the voice was last month when the person calling 911 couldn’t give the voice a distinct location but they thought, well knew because it ended up being the real deal, they were having a heart attack. Ian talked to that voice for over 5 minutes, until they both figured out together; Ian likes that word, together; that the person was standing on the corner of 5th, right by the Kash and Grab where Ian used to work as a teenager. 

The voice seemed to know the area too, something that leads Ian to believe maybe the voice could be from his old neighborhood in Canary Ville so maybe, just maybe, they went to school together... 

Yeah, okay. Ian is a bit obsessed. 

But that voice. God, Ian thinks about it all the time. He catches himself listening, pathetically, everywhere he goes hoping he will catch it in a crowd. The mall. The diner where his sister works. Doctors' appointments. Fuck, he’s even been as obsessed as to go back to the Kash and Grab hoping maybe the voice would magically appear in his ears as he grabs a Powerade and a kind bar. But it never happens. No matter how hard Ian tries to wish it into existence. 

So yeah, Sue is right. He’s a bit obsessed. And Ian knows he needs to be careful, because thoughts like this, obsessive thoughts like these can lead to bigger problems for him. Because they have before. 

Ian has his bi-polar under control. And Sue knows he has it under control. And so, does his family. But sometimes, sometimes, when he finds himself lying in bed at night, chain smoking in the quiet of his apartment, his mind wanders back to that 5-minute conversation and replays that voice over and over in his head. The soft laugh the voice made when Ian tried to think of a million places the person having the heart attack may be. Ian didn't mean to be funny that day; there is nothing funny about his job, like ever; but somehow the voice made the situation easier by keeping Ian calm when he could tell Ian was becoming nervous and a little wild because he couldn’t find the person in need of help. 

But the voice just helped Ian; talking in that even set tone that they are trained to do, and laughing softly at stupid unintentional jokes and sarcastic comments that Ian made. He even told Ian ‘Good job, man’ when they finally realized, together, where the caller was. Ian wanted to say the same to him; he wanted to say so many things that day; but the call disconnected before Ian got a chance to. And every time Ian’s heard that voice since then they never get more than 30 seconds before the voice is gone, again, and its driving him insane. 

Ian knows he needs to stop. He knows this could only end in bad shit happening. But Ian can't help himself. He has to know what the voice looks like. He has to know who he is. But, it's silly right? Who falls for a voice on the other end of the phone? There has to be some awful rom com movie about something like that right? But then Ian thinks about the people who meet on the internet and fall in love without ever meeting each other in person. And then there’s that movie ‘Sleepless in Seattle’ and they just knew they were in love... 

See? Ian has to stop. Because there is a person in Unit 4 having a seizure and that’s what’s important right now. Not Ian’s ridiculous crush on some voice on the phone. So, Ian is out of the rig and into the apartment building in record time because this is his job, and he’s damn good at it and it makes him feel proud and accomplished and steady. All the things he needs. 

But Ian also wants. He wants someone he can call after a hard day, especially when he loses someone no matter how hard he tried to save them. Someone he can spend time with on his days off. Someone to send stupid memes to, because he thinks his brother is finally sick of them because he stopped responding to them about 2 months back. And Ian knows that’s probably why he’s fixating on the voice so badly, because Ian knows he’s just lonely. 

Ian does what he does best and stabilizes the patient and gets them in the rig and to the hospital in under half an hour. He’s leaning against the rig smoking his nerves away when Sue returns from the double automatic doors of the ER and shakes her head at him. 

“Saving lives and killing yourself.” 

“Fuck off.” He tosses her the middle finger and inhales a long drag and smiles at her as the smoke billows through his nostrils. 

“I bet the voice doesn’t smoke.” She chuckles to herself and reaches into her pocket for her gum. Ian glares at her. 

“Do you hear that rasp in his voice? I bet he smokes more than I do.” 

“Yeah, cause he’s probably like 50.” Sue motions for him to get back in the rig and Ian huffs as he puts out his cigarette. 

“You know that doesn’t deter me, right? I’ve been with 50-year old's before.” Ian reminds her as he hops back into his seat. Sue groans and revs the engine. 

“Jesus Christ, Gallagher. You are one sick puppy.” 

“But he’s not though. 50. I can just tell. Maybe older than me but not by much.” 

“You got this whole fantasy in your head, huh? Running into each other at the Save Mart. Eyes locking over a head of lettuce. Falling head over heels at first site. Getting married. Having 2.5 kids in the suburbs?” 

“I don’t know about the suburbs. On our salary? We’d be more inclined to get a nice little house on the outskirts of South Side.” Ian grins at her, teasingly, and Sue groans, again. 

“Fucking hopeless.” 

Ian sips on his warm Gatorade and watches as the neighborhood flies by his window. So, what if he has a fantasy? Fantasies are normal. Healthy. They don’t hurt anybody. 

Except when that fantasy becomes a reality, just a bit skewed, and Ian realizes, maybe nothing about any of this is normal. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~* 

It's been 2 days since Ian’s heard the voice. He’s done 2 overnight shifts in a row. Overtime is a plus sometimes, especially when you live on your own like Ian does, and having a cushion to fall back on isn't a bad thing. It’s an adult thing to do. And Ian is an adult. 

He’s ordering a triple espresso at the coffee shop just down the street from the EMS station after his night shift because even though all he wants to do is go home and sleep since it's his day off, he promised his brother he would watch his nephew for a few hours while he got some work done down at the bike shop. And it's easy; Fred is in that older baby stage where he doesn’t require too much interaction. He can sit in his playpen or on the floor for hours intrigued with just one toy so Ian’s not too worried about how tired he is. But the triple espresso should help until he can get home and fall into his bed. 

Ian’s fucking around on his phone, sending another hilarious meme to his brother that will go unappreciated, when he hears it. 

The voice. 

And like some sort of heroin addiction, his hands begin to shake and he looks around, eyes darting every which way around the coffee shop for his fix. 

And there it is. 

The body and face behind the voice. 

And fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

This is not some 50-year-old dude, which he cannot wait to rub in Sue’s face. Oh no, that voice belongs to probably one of the most beautiful men Ian has ever seen. 

Black hair, combed back off his face in this style that shows he didn’t spend too much time doing it, but just the _right_ enough time to make it look like he did. Light wash jeans over thick legs that Ian can see bunched a little too tight around the man’s thighs. A black hoodie that looks like it's been washed one too many times and dark brown combat boots, one of which is untied. 

The man’s skin is pale; not pale like Ian; totally different skin tone pale; but there’s a hint of olive to it that Ian can’t quite make out what nationality he could be. And then the man turns and Ian’s knees practically give out and he almost crumbles to the floor in weakness. Because this guy’s _eyes_. Fuck, his eyes. They only look up for a moment, making sure no one is in his way before he moves forward, as he shoves his credit card back into his wallet, but Ian saw them. 

And they are so fucking blue. 

And then he’s not 2 feet away from Ian waiting for his own coffee. 

And Ian has forgotten how to breath. He knows it's something your body does unconsciously, but in this moment, his body is doing nothing consciously. And he’s sweating. Like full on wetness rolling down the back of his EMS shirt and down the crack of his ass. And he’s tense. Staring straight ahead trying so hard not to sneak glances at the man, who by the way never once looks at him. Or anyone else in the shop for that matter. But he’s not on his phone. He just stares at the floor, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, waiting. 

When Ian’s name gets called for his coffee, he _yells_ , because again, no control over himself at all in this moment, a little too loudly, “That’s me!”, and beelines for the cart that his coffee has been placed on. He grabs it and then...has no idea what the fuck to do. He can't move. It's like his feet are stuck to the floor and not from the spilled dried coffee under his shoes. The barista looks at him, giving him this _look_. 

“Can I help you with anything else?” 

“Nope.” Ian answers. But he still doesn’t move. He hears a soft laugh behind him and Ian knows that laugh. And he turns to find the eyes; and yeah that’s what Ian’s gonna be calling him now in his head instead of the voice; looking right at him. No expression, just looking. And Ian, who has no control over his body at all, lets out a small ‘meep’ of a noise and finally, a little too clumsily, steps away from the coffee cart. 

Ian eyes the condiment stand not too far from where he stepped to, which just happens to be right in the fucking middle of the shop because well, this is his life, and decides to stand there instead. He doesn't need anything from this stand, but fuck if he isn't going to spend every last second he can where the eyes are, even if he can't bring himself to even look at him again. 

“Mickey?” 

“Yeah.” The voice is back and his name is _MICKEY_. Ian almost, _almost_ , does a little dance because now he at least knows his name. Ian closes his eyes and lets the information wash over him. Mickey. Mickey. Mickey. Mickey with the raspy soothing voice and the blue eyes and... 

“Yo, man. You using anything here or just napping?” 

FUCK. 

Ian’s eyes snap open and Mickey is right fucking there. In his space and Ian is completely in the way of the sugar and cream and everything else someone who might need them for their coffee. 

Instead of answering, like a _normal_ person, Ian just takes a step to the side but still stands right next to him. Mickey gives him this look, almost as if he’s amused and begins to dump 10 packets of sugar into his coffee. Ian could make a hundred different jokes right now about that, but he’s mute. Totally mute as he watches tattooed knuckles stir a wooden stick into Mickey’s coffee. 

Mickey pops the lid back on and has to reach around Ian to throw the stirrer out. He gives Ian one more curious look and then just shakes his head as he steps around him to walk out of the coffee shop. And in that moment, Ian panics. He can't not say something. He has to say something. What if this is his only chance? What if he never gets to actually see Mickey in person again? No, he has to do something. 

“UNIT 327!” He hears himself yell. And then squeezes his eyes shut in embarrassment. But when he opens them back up, Mickey has turned around and is staring at him. Just staring. 

“You talking to me?” 

Ian nods, a bit too quickly and it makes him a lot dizzy, and steps toward Mickey. 

“We get your dispatch calls all the time. I’m EMS unit 327.” Ian smiles at him and Mickey just looks...confused. 

“Okay...” 

“Yeah, so you know. We talk. All the time.” Ian presses. 

Mickey just nods. “Cool.” 

Ian doesn’t mean to, but he can't _control_ his face or anything for that matter, and he frowns. “We like figured out where that guy was last month. You know, the one having the heart attack.” 

Mickey’s eyes just glaze over with confusion. 

“You know. By the Kash and Grab. On 5th.” Ian hears his own voice growing lower and lower as he speaks. He sounds defeated. Because he is. 

Mickey has no fucking clue who he is. Nor does he care. 

“Cool man. Well, keep up the good work or some shit.” Mickey gives him a small nod and turns to leave again. 

“Wait, you...” Ian starts and Mickey turns again and holy fucking _eyebrows_. They are shot straight up over his eyes as he gives Ian a now annoyed look. 

“I, what?” Mickey asks, gripping his coffee cup tightly in his tattooed hand. 

“You really don’t remember?” Ian practically whispers. Fuck, how is he so _pathetic_ right now? 

“Listen, man. I get like 250 calls a day. I can't remember each and every one. But cool, you respond to a lot of my dispatches. Let's keep that shit going alright? Speaking of which, I’m late to go do that, so catch you later, okay?” 

And then Mickey is gone. The bell over the door chimes, signaling his exit and Ian still can't fucking move. 

What the fuck did he expect? Mickey to actually want to talk to him, even if he did remember? It's his job, just like its Ian’s and Mickey probably talks to 20 other units a day between EMS and Fire. Ian isn't special. 

Ian has to remember his breathing techniques as he feels the anxiety and dread wash over him. He sits, unsteadily at a nearby table and just breathes for a good 5 minutes. This is okay. The fantasy is dead. Now he can stop obsessing. This is a good thing. Now Ian can move on and try to find someone the old-fashioned way. Like online or something. 

He digs into his pocket for his phone and shoots his brother a quick text letting him know he’s running a few minutes behind because he ran into someone he knew at the coffee shop. It's not a complete lie. 

His phone chimes back almost instantly. 

**No problem. Anyone I know?**

Ian sighs heavily. 

**_Nah, man. Just someone from the neighborhood._**

**Oh, who?**

**_Mickey._**

**MILKOVICH?**

Ian stops breathing again. 

**_IDK. Black hair. Blue eyes?_**

**Yeah, that’s Mickey Milkovich. He was in my grade. Well, was until he dropped out. You were friends with his sister, right?**

And holy shit, Lip is right. Ian was friends with Mandy. She was one of the only people who knew Ian was gay in high school and he pretended to be her boyfriend for a while to keep the creeps away from her. He knew she has brothers but he’d never met any of them. He had only been to her house like once because her dad was a nightmare, worse than his own, but once high school ended, they didn’t really keep in touch. 

**_Yeah, I was. Didn’t realize they were related._**

**Uh huh. You on your way?**

**_Yeah be there soon._**

Ian pockets his phone and taps the side of his coffee cup. Mickey is Mandy’s brother. Maybe this isn't hopeless after all. Ian knows he should let this go. This entire encounter was a complete shit show but...those eyes. And Mickey didn’t seem like a complete asshole. So maybe... 

Ian smiles to himself. Maybe he should give Mandy a call. It has been forever since he’s talked to her. 

Ian groans and drops his head to the table with a loud thunk. He’s fucking _hopeless._

************  
  
 ** _If you're having girl problems I feel bad for you son  
I got ninety-nine problems but a bitch ain't one_**  
  
The shrill of his phone wakes Mickey out of his _much_ needed night’s rest and he groans, slapping his side table to make it stop, eyes still squeezed closed. 

“Fucking _what?_

“I got the weirdest phone call last night.” 

His sisters' chipper and fucking annoying ass voice barrels into his ear like the loud screeching of the L train close to his apartment and he buries his head deep into his pillow. 

“Are you fucking kidding me, bitch?” 

“Well, good morning to you too, asshole.” Mandy hums a laugh to herself. It’s after 10, Mick.” 

“So, fucking what?” Mickey mumbles pressing his face further into his pillow, muffling his voice. “It’s my day off. So, fuck off.” 

Mandy just laughs. “I need to tell you about this weird ass phone call I got last night.” 

Mickey groans and throws his blankets off his body and sighs heavily, pushing the heel of the hand _not _holding the phone, into his eye sockets.__

__“Why does this concern me?”_ _

__“Because that’s what makes it weird. The phone call was essentially about _you.”_ _ _

__Mickey just rolls his eyes and throws his legs over the side of his bed. “What does Iggy need now?”_ _

__“Oddly enough, it wasn’t one of our idiot brothers.”_ _

__Mickey yawns and pads barefoot into the bathroom, scratching at his stomach. “Then what the fuck are you going on about then? Spit it out, Bitch.”_ _

__“Do you remember Ian Gallagher?”_ _

__“Who?” Mickey lights a cigarette, so what if he’s in the bathroom, balancing the cell phone on his shoulder while he holds his dick while he takes a piss? Fuck off. It's his apartment and he can do what the fuck he wants._ _

__“Ian Gallagher? One of Frank’s kids? I was friends with him in high school?” Mandy asks in that annoyed tone only she can do with such sweetness in her voice._ _

__“Uh, no?”_ _

__“Yes, you do. He used to work at the Kash and Grab? Lip Gallagher’s little brother? Red hair. Tall? Freckles everywhere?”_ _

__“Even if I did, the fuck does it have to do with me?” Mickey flushes and he hears Mandy mutter ‘ew’ and Mickey just sucks his cigarette down as he walks into his kitchen in search of coffee._ _

__“Because, here’s the weird shit, he asked me about _you.”_ _ _

__“Why the fuck would be do that? I don’t know the fucker.”_ _

__“Oh, but he says you do! Says he ran into you in some coffee shop. Claims you guys talk to do to your jobs. Which, by the way, I never imagined Ian becoming an EMT. It’s weird. I don’t talk to the guy for like 4 years and he just randomly calls me...”_ _

__Mickey tunes Mandy out after that. Red hair. Tall. Freckles. Coffee shop. Holy fucking shit. _THAT’S_ who that was. Mickey knows he looked familiar, and now that he thinks about it, it is that gangly tall red-haired fuck from back in the day. Yeah, he’s even taller now, bigger, filled out, but fuck it if isn’t him. The guy who fucking yelled at him in the middle of the coffee shop and looked at him all wide eyed and sad when Mickey didn’t engage further into whatever kind of conversation the guy wanted to have. _ _

__“Why the fuck does he even care?” Mickey interrupts, not even hearing what Mandy has said in the last minute._ _

__“I know this is going to hard for you to wrap your head around here, Mick, but I think, I _think_ , he might like you.” Mandy giggles, fucking _giggles_ and Mickey wishes she was in front of him right now so he could punch her in her god damn face. _ _

__“Fuck off with that shit.”_ _

__“He’s gay, you know. I’m like the only one who knew in high school. Well, besides his family.”_ _

__“Why the fuck would I care about that?” Mickey flips the coffee machine on and rubs his sleepy eyes._ _

__“Come on, Mick. We still doing this? After all this time? Dad’s gone. You don’t have to-”_ _

__“Shut your fucking mouth, okay? This has nothing to do with Dad. Just cause I’m not waving a fucking rainbow flag around...” Mickey bites at his lower lip. He’s not ashamed, he’s _not_ , but it’s just not something he advertises. He is who he is, and fuck everyone else, you know? But he definitely doesn’t need his nosy sister trying to insinuate something... _ _

__“He’s nice, Mick.”_ _

__“He’s a fucking stalker. Like how the _fuck_ did he even know it was me in that coffee shop? Like we talk over a god damn walkie for like 30 seconds a clip. What? He like recognized my voice? That’s some psycho shit, Mandy.” Mickey taps his fingers impatiently on the counter waiting for his coffee to brew. _ _

__“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. Maybe you should.” And Mandy giggles again and Mickey could just strangle her._ _

__“Fuck off with that shit. I ain’t doing nothing.” Mickey makes his coffee, dumping a shit ton of sugar into it listening to his sister breathe out annoyed huffs on the other end of the phone._ _

__“Mick, when is the last time anyone cared enough to purposely talk to you because they maybe _liked_ you?” _ _

__“Uh, never?”_ _

__“Exactly.”_ _

__Mickey sighs heavily and sips his coffee. “The fuck you want from me, Mands?”_ _

__“I have his number. Just saying.”_ _

__“Okay, fuck off now.” Mickey hits the end button to sounds of his sister laughing hysterically. He drops the phone, probably a little too hard, on the counter in front of him and leans his head against his cabinet door._ _

__What? Is he just supposed to take Ian Gallagher’s fucking number and call him? He doesn’t _do_ shit like that. He doesn’t need his sister to hook him up with some dude, no matter how fucking hot he was. Cause, yeah, Mickey isn’t blind. The dudes hot. Tall mother fucker. With green fucking eyes. Yeah, Mickey noticed. But he’s still stands on the fact that the dude may be fucking psycho. Knowing Mickey’s voice in shit in a crowd? The fuck is that anyway? _ _

__Mickey flops down onto the couch and turns the TV onto an old rerun of ‘Law and Order.’ But he doesn’t tell Mandy, or anyone for that matter, that he may look up Ian on Facebook minutes later, and stare at his profile picture a little too long._ _

__Fucking psycho tall motherfucker._ _


	2. Fate or coincidence?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The universe has a sense of humor.
> 
> Ian and Mickey don't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who is reading and commenting. It means so much to me. Things get a little...weird and wild in this chapter. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> <3

  
  
  
  
**_I was as pure as a river  
But now I think I'm possessed_**  
  
  
The thing is Ian doesn’t believe in fate. Yeah, he’s a romantic, it's one of his downfalls in life, but he thinks bad and good shit just happens and there is no divine order nor does he believe that _‘everything happens for a reason’_ shit that people have spewed at him, especially when he got his bi-polar diagnosis. You have one life, you live it, and that’s it. Some good shits gonna happen, some bad shits gonna happen, and you fall in love; maybe multiple times in your life; and maybe those people love you back. He’s not even sure he believes in the idea of soulmates. There are billions of people in the world. It would naïve of him to believe that there is only person in the entire world meant just for you. 

So no, Ian doesn’t believe in fate. 

But fuck if the universe is trying to make him. 

It had been almost a week since the coffee shop and that awkward and painful and quite embarrassing phone call to Mandy. It wasn’t like Mandy wasn’t excited to hear from him, she was, but then he had to go and blurt out seeing Mickey and going on and on about how he’s an EMT and Mickey dispatches his calls and the embarrassment just went on and on and on. Mandy was actually a really good sport about it and acted, and Ian knew she was acting, like Ian was just making casual conversation but he knew she saw right through him, just like she did in High School. She was the same sharp-tongued girl he used to call his best friend and at the end of the phone call, all his pathetic yammering aside, he was really happy he got to talk to her. 

So after fully embarrassing himself to Mandy he decided to take a step back from his obsessive thoughts about Mickey. He focused on work and if he heard Mickey’s voice over the walkie, he had Sue answer it. He was distancing himself but also, he was afraid. He had made a total fool of himself in front of Mickey, who was clearly not interested, probably not even gay, so he felt it was best. He worked, went to the gym did his runs in the morning and spent time with his family. He focused on his routine and that was that. 

So, the Tuesday morning after the coffee shop incident, and also Ian’s day off, he went for his run and decided to stop at the super market on the way home to get his weekly groceries. Ian felt good, focused and had even decided to download a dating app the night before and had plans to start swiping tonight while he browsed something on Netflix. 

But again, that fate thing, that Ian firmly didn’t believe in, decided to rear its ugly and cruel head, and throw a very large wrench into his plans. 

He’s picking out apples, gently feeling them for bruises in his hands when he goes to reach for another and sees the ‘U-UP’ sketched on pale knuckles reach for the same one and forgets that unconscious thing called breathing. 

Ian pleads with himself internally not to look up but he does, because he has _zero_ self-control and there's just nothing but blue. 

“Heyyyy Mickey.” 

_“Jesus Christ.”_

*~*~**~*~*  
 ** _I know I got a bad reputation  
and it isn't just talk, talk, talk_**  
  
“Jesus Christ.” 

Mickey doesn’t mean to be an asshole. Well, to be fair, if he’s anything, he is an asshole, but he’s not intentionally trying to be one to this Ian guy. But for fucks sake, right? Where does he keep coming from? Is he actually stalking him? 

And now the guy looks hurt. Like what in the actual fuck? 

“Sorry.” Ian mumbles and snaps his hand back like Mickey just stabbed him or some shit. Mickey just sighs. 

“How you been, Gallagher?” 

Okay, Mickey is gonna try. Mandy said he’s a nice guy. And he seems harmless. Sorta. 

“Um, I... good. Just day off. Doing some shopping.” Fuck this guy is a nervous fuck. 

“Yeah, huh. It’s my day off too.” Mickey shoves some apples into his plastic bag as quick as possible, throwing them into his hand basket. He makes the mistake of actually looking at Ian in that moment and the Ginger’s eyes are practically sparkling at that news and Mickey rolls his eyes. He can't help it, okay? It’s a knee jerk reaction to most things. Not just tall mother fuckers with goofy grins. 

“So, what are you doing after this?” 

Mickey rubs his finger over the scar on his eyebrow and tries his best to be nice. Tries. 

“Listen, I... I don’t know what you think is gonna happen here but we aren't friends.” 

And with that Ian’s grin fades and a dark hurt look washes over his green eyes. He sniffs, twice, and nods. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Sorry. I’m being totally weird right? Sorry about the coffee shop by the way. I was just coming off 2 overnights and I was just...” Ian makes a crazy motion next to his temple and blows a loud breath out between his lips. “But yeah. I’m...yeah.” 

And abandoning his apples, Ian is gone. 

Jesus Christ. 

~*~*~*~  
  
 ** _Oh, it's evil, babe  
The way you let your grace enrapture me  
When well you know I'd be insane  
To ever let that dirty game recapture me_**  
  
Ian waits until he’s outside and around the side of the store before he lets himself feel anything. But then, like a tidal wave, he feels everything. Sadness. Embarrassment. Regret. Humiliation. Anger. But most of all? He feels pathetic. 

This isn't like him. Ian Gallagher doesn’t act this way around someone he finds attractive. He doesn’t chase men. Men chase him. Young. Old. Just a few years ago he was literally fighting advances off from men every day. 

And now he can't even have a normal fucking conversation with an acquaintance. What the fuck was wrong with him? And why was this affecting him so badly? Mickey Milkovich was nobody. He was Mandy’s older brother which he never knew and some guy he hears over the walkie at work. He’s barely a blip on the radar of Ian’s life. 

So why was this bothering him so fucking much? What the fuck was it about this guy that is making him feel like he’s a stranger in his own body and mind? Yeah, Mickey’s hot. But hot guys are a dime a dozen. Billions of people in the world, remember? So, what the fuck was happening to him? 

Yeah, Ian is a romantic, but he doesn’t believe in that love at first sight bullshit. This isn't that. 

Is it? 

There are actual tears in his eyes. He blames it on the humiliation and wipes them away quickly and breathes in and out a few times. He’s done with this. No matter how hot Mickey is he’s obviously a fucking asshole and Ian doesn’t have any time or energy for someone that fucking mean in his life. He does a good enough job on his own making himself feel like shit, he doesn’t need someone else to do it for him. And he promised himself after Caleb, he wasn’t going to go down that road again. He knows his worth, and Mickey isn’t worth it. 

No matter how blue his fucking eyes are. 

Ian takes his time walking home, forgoing his grocery shopping all together. He will order Chinese tonight and find someone on that dating app who will be much nicer to him than Mickey fucking Milkovich. He guesses Mickey’s tattoos were exactly on point. All Mickey does is fuck people up. 

*~*~*~*~*  
  
 ** _I struck a match  
And blew your mind, but I didn't mean it  
And you didn't see it_**  
  
“You did what?” 

Mickey rolls his head back against his couch and blows out smoke through his nose from his cigarette as his sister yells in his ear. 

“What the fuck do you want from me, huh? The guy is an idiot!” 

“He is not an idiot! You make him nervous. It's cute.” 

Mickey snorts and takes a large gulp of his beer, and belching. 

“And for some fucking reason, one I will never understand by the way, you make him nervous.” 

“Mandy, I think he’s retarded or something.” 

Mandy practically growls on the other end of the phone. “Mick, he’s not retarded. That’s how people act when they like someone and they have no idea if the other person is interested.” 

“And you want me to date people because? That sounds fucking terrible.” 

“You’re fucking hopeless.” 

Mickey snickers and pops open another beer. “The dude ran off and didn’t even buy any apples.” 

“Because you were a fucking asshole to him. I mean seriously Mick, who the fuck acts like that?” 

“I do, Mandy. That’s who I am. Why do you think I just hook up with someone and then I’m done? Because I can’t stand to be around like anyone and no one can stand to be around me. And I’m fine with that, why can’t you just let this go?” 

Mandy is seriously getting on Mickey’s last nerve. He has no idea why she is so hell bent of getting him to talk to this Ian guy. And he’s really not sure why this Ian guy is so hell bent on talking to him for fucks sake. The guy is a gay men's wet dream. Tall and shit with the skin and freckles and the eyes. He could literally have his pick of the pride parade litter. 

“Just thought maybe now, at 26, you’d want to finally I don’t know find someone. And Ian has his shit together. And he’s nice. And not retarded, no matter what you think.” 

“Well, he’s definitely a stalker.” 

“It was a coincidence!” 

“The fuck it was.” 

“Maybe it’s the universes way of trying to get you two together.” 

“Fuck off with that horoscope shit. You been watching too many lifetime movies with that fate and soulmates bullshit.” 

“I give up.” 

“Good. Finally. Talk to you later.” 

Mandy sighs. “Love you, dick breath.” 

“You too, fuck face.” 

Mickey throws his phone on the cushion next to him and sips his beer. Okay, so maybe he shouldn't have been that mean to the guy. But what the fuck? Just randomly bumping into him in the grocery store? Grazing fingers over Granny Smith apples? That’s some freaky shit and Mickey wants no part of it. 

No matter how fucking hot the fucker is. 

*~*~*~*~  
  
 ** _And if I go I'm goin' shameless_**  
  
Sue is laughing. Not just laughing. Cackling. Tears streaming down her face. And Ian is not amused. 

“This isn't funny.” 

“No, no.” Sue wipes her eyes and breathes out a few more short laughs. “No, it's fucking hysterical and that shit would only happen to you, Gallagher.” 

“You fucking cursed me!” 

“Uh uh. You don’t get to blame me for this shit. I told you to leave it alone and you had to go and talk to him in that coffee shop. This is karma getting back at you.” 

“Karma doesn’t exist.” 

“Oh, but cursing someone does? Face it, Gallagher. You’re messing with forces way too powerful for you to handle.” 

Ian sighs fiddles with the zipper on his jacket. 

“Are you done now? Is this over? You gonna stop obsessing?” 

Ian just nods. He is. He’s done. He told himself that yesterday outside that store. And he means it. 

But apparently the universe wasn’t done with him. 

*~*~*~*~*  
  
 ** _Hey don't I know you  
I can't speak  
Stripped my senses  
On the spot  
I've never been defenseless  
I can't even make sense of this_**  
  
Mickey learned a while back that the world has a sick sense of humor. He doesn’t believe in all that God bullshit; he’s a firm believer you’re born, you live whatever life is dealt to you and then you die. He knows who he is, what he was born from, and he knows he’s not meant for certain things. So, he works, he bangs who he wants, and he goes home to his shitty apartment, drinks and smokes, talks to his annoying siblings, and goes the fuck to sleep. It's simple, efficient and it gives him the minimal amount of bullshit in his life. 

Yeah, guys come on to him. If they didn’t, he’d never have sex. But he chooses those people wisely; the ones he lets into his sexual world; but what he doesn’t want or need, is some twink catching feelings and thinking he’s gonna slum it on the southside with Mickey and call it true love. Cause that shit is just bullshit. 

But whatever the fuck Ian was doing was not something Mickey has ever experienced. Its full-on stalker shit and he’s not sure why he hasn’t kneed the ginger in the fucking balls yet, which is usually what he does when some fucker can’t take the hint. Maybe he hasn’t because of Mandy. Maybe it's because, despite Mandy’s protests, Mickey still kinda thinks Ian may be a bit on the slow side, or maybe, and it ain’t something he’d ever say outloud, but as much as it is annoying, it's kinda funny too. 

But there is nothing funny about this shit right now. 

Because Ian is standing in front of him in the fucking condom isle of the pharmacy, green eyes wide in panic, white knuckling a prescription bag while Mickey holds a fucking box of condoms. 

Ian swallows thickly and Mickey closes his eyes and sighs in disbelief. 

“I swear to Christ.” 

“I’m not doing this on purpose!” Ian shouts, a bit too loudly and great now people are looking. 

“You’re fucking everywhere, man. You’re either a stalker or psychic. Which one is it?” Mickey pushes past him too roughly, he knows, and Ian just trails behind him, whispering, again, too loudly. 

“I’m not fucking stalking you. I think I like this shit?” 

“Well you’re still yammering away, so I’d say yeah, tough guy, you do.” Mickey is zig zagging up and down isles and finally Ian grabs him by the elbow in the diaper isle. 

“You don’t have to be such a fucking dick!” 

Mickey’s eyebrows raise slightly. Okay, now we’re talking. 

“Dick, huh? You tail me all through the southside and I’m a dick?” 

“I don’t know how many more times I gotta tell you this. I’m. Not. Stalking. You. All I tried to do in that coffee shop was have a fucking conversation with you. But you obviously wanted nothing to do with me so I let it go.” 

“Let it go, huh?” Mickey crowds him until Ian hits a row of Pampers and lets out a small huff of air as he’s back into it. “You calling Mandy? That letting it go?” 

Ian’s eyes darken. “Sue me for asking questions about you. Excuse me for giving a shit.” 

“No one fucking asked you to. You don’t need to be asking nothing about me.” Mickey steps back, a fire growing inside him that he isn't sure exactly what it is that’s fueling it. There’s something about the way Ian’s chest is heaving. The way he keeps licking his lower lip. The way his eyes are dancing over Mickey’s face. Mickey feels something inside his gut that he just can't quite decipher. 

“No, I get it. You aren't interested. But this shit isn't my fault. Maybe the universe has a fucked-up sense of humor. Do me a favor, okay? Next time the world wants to get a good laugh and you see me somewhere? Fucking walk right by me. Cause that’s exactly what I plan to do to you. Have fun tonight.” Ian spits out, flicking the box of condoms in Mickey’s hands with his finger before knocking into his shoulder and walking away. 

And. Mickey. See’s. Red. 

He chucks the box of condoms on the shelf with the diapers, not missing the irony, and stalks after Ian like a man on a mission. And he is. He’s going to kick this ginger fucks ass up and down the God Damn street. 

He makes it out the door, half almost taking it off the hinges and grabs Ian by the back of his jacket, swinging him into the ally and back against the brick wall. Ian hits it, hard, and gasps for breath at the force of it. Mickey’s hand wraps around his throat and Ian claws at it. 

“Who the fuck you think you’re talking to like that, Red? You think you’re some tough guy? You have any idea who the fuck I am?” 

Ian pries Mickey’s hand from his throat and coughs twice. “You’re some south side piece of trash. You can paint it pretty with a cushy job but that’s all you’ll ever be. I have no idea why I even bothered trying to talk to you. Fucking piece of shit-” Mickey’s fist connects with Ian’s stomach and Ian flinches, slightly but gets his bearings quickly and Ian grabs Mickey by the sides of his head and smashes his forehead against Mickey’s. 

Mickey stumbles back, eyes whiting over for a second and then he grunts as he barrels into Ian, smashing him back against the wall again as they claw and knee and slap and punch at each other like a couple of wild animals in the alley. And Mickey feels euphoric. It's been years since he’s done this; trying to keep on the straight and narrow and not get himself into any more trouble but fuck if this isn't the best feeling in the world. 

And it's turning him the fuck on. 

Ian’s giving it as much as he’s taking it and they are both bleeding and Mickey has blood under his fingernails and Ian’s hair is in his face, plastered to his forehead with sweat and blood and Mickey can taste the blood pooling in his mouth from his split lip and possibly broken nose. Mickey gets one good knee to Ian’s groin as he clocks Mickey one more time in the jaw and they both double over in pain and seize fire for a moment. 

They are panting and spitting blood at their feet and they finally connect eyes and before he can even stand straight on his feet, Ian has him backed up against the alley wall and his bloodied mouth is on his. 

And fuck if Mickey doesn’t try and stop him. 

*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
 ** _Sweat drips  
Break the lock if it don't fit  
A kick in the teeth is good for some  
A kiss with a fist is better then none_**  
  
The seconds Ian’s lips are on Mickey’s it's like the world that’s been spinning around him at a million miles an hour every second, finally stops turning and the ringing in his ears stops and everything else is just...quiet and still. Mickey’s lips are closed tight but Ian doesn’t stop pressing and he pushes his tongue roughly at them until they finally open and Ian can taste blood on it. They keep battling for control; just like with their fists; but this time it's with their mouths and tongues and Mickey grips Ian tightly by the front of his shirt and spins them around until Ian is backed against the brick wall and Ian moans as he pushes his hips roughly against Mickey’s. Ian’s fingertips are digging into the back of Mickey’s neck where his hairline ends and Mickey keeps doing this thing where he pushes Ian slightly off him but then pulls him back in; like he’s fighting this internal battle within himself. But he never takes his mouth off Ian’s. 

But Ian needs to breathe and he pulls back, ever so slightly, his cut lip getting caught on Mickey’s and they are just taking small gasps of air in and out of each other’s mouths. Mickey’s eyes are closed and his forehead is creased in confusion and Ian presses his forehead to his and they both hiss in pain because their bruised and sore from fighting. When Mickey’s eyes finally open, they are so fucking blue, Ian almost can’t stand to look into them. They don’t say anything for a long time. They just keep clutching at each other; their eyes battling with emotions as Ian tries to figure out what to do, what to say, next. 

Mickey finally gives Ian a push back and Ian stumbles but never takes his eyes off him. He’s still panting, they both are, and he knows they both look rough and bloody and he can already see the bruising and swelling starting around Mickey’s eye. Ian tries to step forward but Mickey holds his hand out and Ian, for once, listens. 

“Fuck you, Gallagher.” 

He leaves Ian standing there in the alley; confused, in pain, hard as a fucking rock in his pants, with blood spilling down his face. 

And fuck if Ian doesn’t smile.


	3. Put your money where your mouth is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey tries to relieve some tension. 
> 
> It backfires.
> 
> Or does it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very sexual. It involves a glory hole. If you don't know what that is, or don't want to know what that is, skip this chapter. Its not gross or anything, but yeah. Its something different. 
> 
> A big thank you to Aelia_Gioia for helping me come up with ideas for this chapter. She is my perverted mind twin <3
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is reading and commenting. I am having so much fun with this fic <3

  
  
  
  
  
**_Recent fears about love  
I string 'em up  
These are my robust ropes  
There'll be no more tears I'm unplugged  
Lets live it up  
Easy come easy go_**  
  
  
  
Mickey is pissed off. 

He’s been pissed off for days now. This itch of aggression right under his skin causing his fuse to be short as hell and he’s been snapping at everyone who dare comes within 3 feet of him for the past 3 days. His coworkers; who normally would chat socially with him during his shifts; realized after 20 minutes that first day that Mickey was in no mood for small talk. They had steered clear of him and didn’t even say good morning to him the second and now third day. 

He snapped at the towel head behind the counter at the Kash and Grab because they were out of BBQ pringles, and he’s probably smoked 4 packs of cigarettes in the past 72 hours. 

Mickey is pissed the fuck off. 

Because he can't stop thinking about it. 

He can't stop thinking about the way Ian’s lips felt. How the hard outline of Ian’s dick was pressing against his thigh. He’s pissed because he wants to see it. It felt fucking huge, and Mickey doesn’t claim to be a size queen or shit like that but yeah, he’s a fucking size queen. He keeps seeing Ian’s bloody but stupid fucking attractive face when he closes his eyes and he’s pissed because he’s jerked off so many times in the past 3 days his wrist hurts and his cock is rubbed raw. 

Fucking ginger mother fucker. 

He’s pissed because Mickey doesn’t do this. He doesn’t want like this. If he wants to fuck, he goes and fucks. He gets an itch, he scratches it. He barely remembers it afterwards; doesn’t remember faces or hands or any gay shit like that. And he sure as shit doesn’t let anyone fucking kiss him. 

But Gallagher thinks he can just smash his mouth against his and slide his tongue in his mouth like Mickey is some bitch. And Mickey’s pissed. 

Because he fucking let him do it. 

And he liked it. He fucking moaned when Ian’s tongue slid against his. He could taste the blood in Ian’s mouth and the feel of abs under his shirt and it pisses him the fuck off. 

Fucking Gallagher thinking he can just manhandle him like he owns him or some shit. That shit doesn’t fly with Mickey and he almost calls Mandy and demands the fucker's number so he can go over to his place and kick the living shit out of him for even thinking that shits okay. 

But he doesn’t. 

And that pisses him off too. 

Mickey knows what he needs to do. He needs to find some tall mother fucker and go balls deep in him. Make the twink forget his own name and take out every aggression Mickey has on his ass. 

That’s all this is. Sexual frustration. Mickey’s felt it before and it's easy to get rid of. Those twinks on the Northside go fucking crazy for the knuckle tattoos and his blue eyes and his ‘I don’t give a flying fuck’ attitude. He knows it. Those are the guys he bends over in the alley and gives them the fuck of their life and Mickey walks away smiling because he got what he came for and those assholes never knew what hit them. No pun intended. 

So Mickey changes into one of his cut off t-shirts (Yeah he knows what his arms look like; many a guy has told him) and dark boot cut jeans and his black boots and maybe he spends a little too much time on his hair to look like he really didn’t do anything to it at all, and heads out. Tomorrow is his day off anyway so he plans to get drunk off his ass and into someone else's. 

He picks the Fairy Tale because it has just the right amount of seediness he needs tonight and he always finds some twink who wants nothing to do with the geriatric viagroids who pant and drool over the dancers. It also has a glory hole in the bathroom and a dick sucking is a dick sucking, no matter whose mouth it is. He don’t see their faces and that’s just fine as long as he gets his load in someone’s mouth. 

So, win win, no matter what the night brings. 

It's after 11 when he gets there and the air is hot and smells of a mixture of booze and sweat and cologne. It gives Mickey an instant headache, but he ignores it and downs 2 shots before he has a chance let it really bother him. He can already see 2 fuckers eyeing him from the dance floor but he ignores them because nothing makes you want someone more than complete ignorance. 

Like fucking Gallagher. Mickey was pretty fucking clear he wasn’t interested but that didn't stop that ginger fuck. No, he took that as a fucking invitation to just stalk him all over Chicago... 

Mickey chugs his beer and tells himself not to think about it. Because he’s just gonna get himself all pissed off again and he’s on a mission tonight and he ain’t leavin till he gets what he came here for. 

He spots a tall blonde on the dance floor and his eyes flicker towards Mickey’s. All Mickey has to do is raise an eyebrow... 

And yup, here he comes. He never realized this shit was so easy when he was a teenager. Yeah, he was as closeted as they came for reasons, but fuck. The guy maneuvers around dancing bodies and then there he fucking is. 

“Hey.” 

Mickey sips his beer and nods at him. 

“Seth.” 

“Mickey.” 

“I... like your tattoos.” 

See? 

“Yeah.” 

Sam or whatever the fuck his name is, leans closer to him. “You wanna dance?” 

“Don’t dance.” 

Scott just smiles. 

“You come to club and you don’t dance?” 

“Nope.” 

Mickey doesn’t even look at the guy; just keeps his eyes out toward the dance floor but Steve just keeps watching him. 

“What did you come here for, then?” 

Mickey licks his bottom lip and sees out of the corner of his eye; the guy follows his tongue. 

“To fuck.” 

“I can help with that.” 

Mickey finally looks at him. “Alley. 5 minutes.” 

“I have a place not far from here...” 

Mickey narrows his eyes. “Alley. 5 minutes. Take it or leave it.” 

Simon smiles. “I’ll take it.” 

So, fucking easy. 

Mickey just nods and goes back to looking out onto the dance floor, taking a long gulp of his beer and his eyes lock onto someone. The lights flicker and bounce all around and catch the guys hair just the right way and then he turns, his body bending and thrusting to the music and... 

Jesus fucking Christ. 

Gallagher. 

Shawn follows Mickey’s eyes and Mickey hears him huff out a laugh. 

“Gorgeous, right?” 

“Mmm. You know him?” 

The guy shrugs. “He comes here sometimes. Never really goes home with anyone. Used to date this trans guy, Trevor. But haven't seen him here with him in a long time.” 

A trans guy? Who the fuck is this guy? 

“But he’s hot. And he knows it. Heard he’s got a 9-inch cock.” Salvatore orders a shot but Mickey can't take his fucking eyes off the redhead. He watches as he dances against a swarm of men; all eyefucking him and moving their hands along his body. One guy has his hand against Ian’s bare stomach; bunching up his button-down shirt as he rubs his fingers in the red hair from his stomach down to the top of his jeans. Mickey swallows thickly. 

“Did you wanna go to the alley or-” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

Blondie instantly shuts his mouth and continues to watch Gallagher. 

This fucking ginger asshole. Dancing like he owns this fucking club. The guys are fucking drooling over him and its making Mickey’s fingers itch with anger. He wants to punch every one of those motherfuckers. 

He just can't pin down why. 

A crowd moves deeper into the dancing bodies and now Mickey has a perfect view of Ian. Ian turns, facing the bar, and opens his eyes, which are glassy from the dancing and who knows how much liquor and he focuses through the smoke and yup. 

Fuck. 

He sees Mickey. 

They lock eyes and Mickey can't help but bring his bottom lip between his teeth. He should just grab the fucking twink and take him into the alley like he came here to do but he just can't take his eyes off Ian. He doesn’t know what the fuck it is about this kid. His head is screaming at him to walk away; but his body just won't move. And Ian is just watching him; running his hands down his body as he dances, if you can even call it that. Ian is eyefucking him and body fucking him with his dancing. Mickey shifts on his bar stool and when he finally turns to tell the blonde he’s ready, the twink is gone. 

Fuck. 

Gallagher always fucking up his shit. 

Mickey finishes his beer, finally, finally, able to stop looking at the Ginger and he brushes past grabby hands and grinding bodies to make it to the bathrooms. If anything, he’s gonna get his dick sucked. He’s not leaving here without blowing his load, no matter how he does it. 

He picks one of the cleaner stalls; he has standards after all. He unzips and brings his cock out of the boxers to find he’s pretty much already hard. Just from watching Ian dance. And now he’s pissed off again. 

Yeah, Ian is hot. But he ain’t worth all the shit that goes along with that. The stalking, the crazy emotions; yelling one minute, kissing Mickey the next. He don’t need some crazy fuck in his life. No matter how big he hears his dick is. 

The stall next to him opens and he hears someone lean against the wall. Mickey pushes his hard cock through the hole in the wall and feels a hot hand grab him. It's rough; but the fingers are long and warm and Christ that feels good. Anyone can jerk a cock; a hand job is a dime a dozen; but fuck is this guy's hand isn't demanding and forceful in the all ways that makes Mickey’s knees weak almost instantly. The guys hand jerks him a few times; rubbing his thumb over Mickey’s tip, gathering the precum there and sliding it back down over his cock. Mickey moans; he don’t care. No one knows who he is, and it feels good to be able to let go once in a while. 

“Suck it.” Mickey demands and he hears the body shifting and knees hitting the floor. And then Mickey is engulfed in heat. Wet, soft, firm, heat. And Mickey’s head falls back instantly. Holy fucking shit. This guy's mouth. He can hear the spit forming in the guy's mouth as he sucks hungrily; moaning and causing vibrations to run through Mickey’s body. A tongue licks his tip and it drags all the way down his cock and Mickey can almost see the guys lips through the hole. Mickey almost wants to shove his fingers into that mouth but clenches his fist at his side to keep himself from doing it. 

“Like that?” Mickey moans. 

The guy hums and takes Mickey back into his mouth and sucks. Mickey has never felt anything like this before. He’s had his fair share of blowjobs. Some have been good, some okay, and some just plain bad. But this one; this one takes the whole fucking cake. The guy is deep throating him; he clearly has no gag reflex; and that makes Mickey’s head spin and his eyes white over and he has to lean his hands against the wall to keep himself upright. The guy licks and moans and sucks and its loud and dirty and downright filthy the noises that are coming from the other side of that wall. 

Mickey feels the tingle in spine and he knows he’s seconds from blowing. He’s never cum this fast. Ever. Not even when he has a dildo in his ass. 

“You gonna take my load?” Mickey whispers and he feels the guy nod with his cock still deep in his throat. 

“Take it. Take my cum, bitch.” 

His tip hits the back of the guys throat at the perfect angle and Mickey unloads deep in the guy's mouth, cursing and fists hitting the wall from the intensity. The guy takes everything, swallowing around him as Mickey spurts out 4 ribbons of cum into the guys mouth and then he licks Mickey’s cock completely clean; not missing one drop. Mickey leaves his half-spent cock through the hole and the guy just keeps licking; these soft kitten-like laps and then kisses, fucking kisses, the tip of Mickey’s cock. 

And it makes Mickey smile. 

Mickey finally pulls his dick back through the hole and pushes himself back inside his boxers and pants and presses his forehead to the wall to catch his breath. 

Holy fucking shit that was good. 

“Uh, thanks.” Mickey murmurs through the wall. The guy just hums and Mickey listens as the door opens and footsteps disappear. Mickey takes a few more minutes to collect himself and when he sees a dick come through the hole on the other wall, he just bangs on it. 

“Fuck off.”  
  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
 ** _Recent years were unsung  
I light 'em up  
Burning my horoscope  
Recent fears I've undone  
I give 'em up  
Sick of my bogus ghost_**  
  
  
  
Ian sloshes his drink around in his mouth but no matter how much he does it, he can still taste Mickey on his tongue. He knows there is a wet spot in the front of his jeans from cumming in his pants like a fucking 14-year-old, but fuck he couldn’t help it. That was, hands down, the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him. Mickey’s got a filthy dirty mouth and its everything Ian has been craving since he knew he was into guys. Every other guy he’d ever been with has been so...vanilla. Yeah, they would try things in bed but dirty talk was never something they really did. But Ian liked it; he liked it in porn and he fucking loves it coming out of Mickey’s mouth. 

He knows he probably shouldn’t have done that. That was probably borderline assault but Mickey stuck his cock through a hole in a bathroom. He wanted his dick sucked and didn’t care who did it. Honestly, it was probably better that it was Ian. Ian was doing him a favor. Right? 

Now the guilt washes over him and he buries his face in his hands. He fucked up. That was wrong. He promised himself he wouldn’t do shit like this anymore. He had gone down a horrible spiral of men and sex and drugs all those years ago and he had worked his ass off to get to a healthy place in his life. He comes to these clubs to dance and drink a little and yeah, sometimes he has sex, but not like that. He doesn’t do stuff like that. Fuck. 

But Jesus Christ that was hot. Ian’s head swarms with the memories of Mickey’s sounds and words and how heavy and hot his cock was in Ian’s mouth. Mickey’s cock is thick and beautiful and now he’s never going to be able to look at another dick without comparing it to Mickey’s. He fucked up. In so many ways. 

He’s holding his drink, hands shaking a little, when a body bumps into him. He turns, spilling it all over the arm of the person. 

“What the fuck, Gallagher?” 

Great. Perfect. Fucking perfect. 

“I’m sorry. My hands...” Ian grabs a few napkins off the bar and starts dabbing at the wetness of Mickey’s arm. The hair is dark and even with the lights swarming around them he can see a few freckles littering his skin. 

“Now I'm gonna smell like a fucking Appletini all night.” Mickey grabs the napkins from Ian’s hand and Ian can feel his hands continuing to shake. “Yo, you okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Just...too much to drink you know?” 

Mickey looks into his face and focuses on Ian’s mouth. And that’s when it happens. 

Mickey knows. 

Ian knows his lips are swollen and spent and his skin is flushed from giving Mickey that blowjob and the release of his own orgasm. Mickey’s eyes widen, slightly and he drops the napkins on the bar, his eyes never leaving Ian’s mouth. This is it. Ian’s going to get punched in the face. Good. He deserves it. He half closes his eyes and waits for the inevitable. 

“Did you like it?” 

Ian’s eyes spring open and Mickey’s almost smiling. 

Ian swallows, still tasting Mickey’s cock. “Yes.” He practically whispers. 

“Good, because you ain’t never getting it again.” 

Mickey pushes past Ian, knocking into him hard with his shoulder and Ian can't bring himself to watch him walk away. 

But something shifts inside his chest. 

Mickey knows. 

And he didn’t hit him. 

Because he’s not mad. 

He liked it. 

Mickey fucking liked it. He fucking loved it. 

And it's all he’s going to be thinking about. 

Ian smiles and touches his fingertips to his lips; still numb and sore from Mickey’s thick cock. 

This isn't over. 

This is far from over.  
  
*~*~*~**~*~  
  
 ** _Now the sparks are gonna fly  
'Cos I'm turned on again  
Burning up the future_**  
  
  
“Ian stop stalking you?” 

Mickey rolls over and buries his face in his pillow. He will never understand why his sister insists on bothering him on his day off with her annoying chatter. 

“Like you don’t know, bitch.” 

“Haven't talked to him, actually. Why did something happen?” 

“No.” Mickey grumbles. 

“Oh my God. Something did. Tell me everything.” 

“Fuck you, no. He just keeps showing up fucking everywhere annoying the shit out of me.” 

“Mmm hmm.” Mandy pauses. “You sound different.” 

“No, I fucking don’t. Fuck off.” 

“You like him!” 

“No, I fucking do not.” 

Mandy giggles and Mickey pulls the blankets off over your head. 

“It's okay, Mick. I told you was nice.” 

“He ain’t nice. Stupid motherfucker.” 

“Do you want his number?” 

“NO!” 

“You so do. I’m gonna text it to you.” 

“I’m going now.” 

“To text Ian? Good idea.” 

“Oh, fuck off.” 

Mickey clutches his phone in his hand and slowly drifts back to sleep. A loud ding interrupts him and he glares at the text with just 10 numbers taunting him from underneath his blanket. 

No. It's not happening. No matter how good the asshole sucks dick. 

He had to give Ian credit for that one. Sneaky fucker. He knows how to get what he wants. It would be hot if it wasn’t so fucked up. 

But Jesus, Mickey can't stop thinking about it. He jerked off two more times last night when he got home before collapsing into sleep. He even dreamed about that assholes mouth and woke up with a hard on, which isn't too out of the norm, but his dick could cut diamonds. And then Mandy had to call and ruin the whole damn dream. 

The thing is Mickey doesn’t know what the fuck to do. What used to be amusement, turned to annoyance, then to rage and now pure need and want. He wants Ian’s mouth. He wants to see this cock the fucking twink was going on about. He wants to see the rest of Ian. Not just the small patch of skin on his stomach that the assholes hands were on. He wants to hear what Ian sounds like when he cums. 

But he can't give in. He can't let Ian know that’s what he wants. Because Mickey is no one’s bitch and he ain’t about to let Ian think he won. He needs a plan. He just needs to make sure he doesn’t run into Ian, again, before he can come up with one. 

But Mickey knows the odds of that ain’t fucking good.


	4. The game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey plays a game. 
> 
> He doesn't win. 
> 
> Feelings develop.

  
  
**_I cheated myself  
Like I knew I would   
I told ya I was troubled   
You know that I'm no good_**  
  
Mickey stares up at the sign outside the shop and takes a long inhale of his cigarette. This is a risky idea but he doesn’t know anyone else who can pull this off. Who is smart enough to know how to do what Mickey wants to do in his plan to fuck with Ian? He thought about just texting him. Thought about meeting up with him someplace. He thought about beating the shit out of him, for real this time, so Ian got the hint that Mickey was no one’s bitch and his stalking was no longer welcomed. Not that it ever was. What started off as amusing is now full-blown pissing him the fuck off. He thought about having one night of intense mind-blowing sex with Ian; leaving Ian broken, in many ways, and unable to move the next morning. He thought about kicking Ian out then; shattering his heart into a million pieces just for Mickey’s amusement. 

But the thing is? Mickey doesn’t want to do any of those things. What he wants to do is get under Ian’s skin. Drive the kid crazy. Make it so the only thing Ian can think about is Mickey. Because lately, ever since that night at the club, Ian is all Mickey can think about himself. How hot his mouth was. The things Ian did with his tongue. The way he danced. The small patch of freckled skin Mickey got a peak at. Ian’s swollen and used lips from sucking Mickey’s dick. The sounds he made while deep throating him. Mickey finds himself thinking about all those things at different times throughout the day. In the morning while he showers. At work during the few seconds of silence between calls. In the liquor store while he restocks up on his beer. While playing call of duty. 

He thinks about it all the time. 

And it's not fair that Mickey has to be the one who can't think about anything else. And yeah, maybe Ian is possibly thinking about Mickey too and that’s all fine and good but Mickey wants it so it drives Ian nuts. To the point where he can't even function. And Mickey got the idea while talking to his fuckwad of a brother who was going off about his new scheme to make money about hacking into Bluetooth’s and trying to get credit card information when people pay for shit over their phone. At the time Mickey just told him it was the stupidest shit he’d ever heard and who the fuck was going to teach him how to do that? 

But then Mickey realized he did know someone who could teach him to do that shit. But Mickey wasn’t going to use it to hack people’s credit info. He was going to use to make Ian Gallagher his bitch. 

“Ay! Yo!” 

Lip Gallagher turns his head as he continues to turn the wrench on bike he’s kneeling in front of and smirks at Mickey. “Mickey fucking Milkovich. And to what do I owe this honor?” 

“You still smart and shit?” Mickey asks, eyeing all the broken bikes around him and studying one particular nice one a few feet from Lip. Lip stands, wiping his hands on a rag. 

“That’s what they say. You need someone to help you with your homework, Mick?” 

“Real funny, asshole. Nah, trying to hack into some shit. You do that?” 

Lip eyes him and nods at Mickey to follow him outside as he takes his cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. “Depends on what your hacking.” 

“Bluetooth.” 

Lips eyes widen slightly on his first inhale. “Seriously? What kinda scam you running this time?” 

“None of your fucking business.” 

Lip laughs and looks up at the afternoon sky as he exhales smoke rings into it. “Comes with a price.” 

“No shit. I pay my debts unlike the rest of these assholes in this neighborhood.” Mickey pulls out a wad of cash and shows it to Lip. 

“Heard you ran into my brother.” 

Mickey raises his eyebrows. “That ginger fuck talking to everybody about me and shit?” 

Lip shrugs. “Never realized you knew him.” 

“Don’t.” 

Lip nods and pulls out a small notepad out of his back pocket. 

“You’re gonna need to go pick me up this shit.” 

~*~*~*~*~*  
  
 ** _I'm begging you to keep on haunting me_**  
  
Ian hums and taps his fingers against the door of the rig as he waits for Sue to come back with their lunch. It's been a slow day. But his mind is racing as usual. Because he can't get Mickey out of his head. He can't get that night out of his head. He can't get the memory or the feeling or the taste of Mickey out of his head. It was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him. And he’s done some hot shit in his time. 

Mickey still gives them their calls and Sue keeps answering them and Ian is doing a good job pretending he’s over Mickey and the whole situation and Sue hasn’t made a snarky comment in days. But she doesn’t know that his need and want for Mickey has intensified to an almost obsessive nature. What used to be a little crush; a surge of curiosity about the voice on the other end of his emergency calls; has turned into something Ian can't quite comprehend. Ian can't think about anything else. When he’s showering. At the gym. Having dinner with his family. And especially alone, at night in bed. He replays what happened in the bathroom over and over. It’s the main event in most of his jerk off sessions; Ian adding a few fantasies into it where Mickey bursts open the stall door when Ian is finished and smashes his mouth into his and falls to his knees to pull out Ian’s cock and sucks and licks and takes it all down his throat. 

He thinks about pushing Mickey up against that wall and go balls deep in him as Mickey whines and moans as he fucks him. Ian thinks about a lot. Different positions. Different scenarios where he runs into Mickey and they just have to touch each other right then and there. He’s never felt anything like this. But Ian knows Mickey was pissed about what happened. He made that perfectly clear pretty much telling Ian in his Mickey way to stay the fuck away from him. So, Ian has resorted to his memories and fantasies to get him by. He stopped going to that coffee shop he first saw Mickey at. He even changed pharmacies. Because he’s a God Damn pussy. But he’s scared about how he would react if he saw Mickey again. It's like he can't control himself around the guy. Lust takes over and all he can do is think with his dick. 

There is a loud beep in his ear and it interrupts Ian’s thoughts, yet again, of Mickey. He presses on his Bluetooth and it beeps loudly again. What the fuck? Maybe it needs to be charged. He’s about to take it out of his ear when he hears the gruffness of a familiar voice. 

“Gallagher?” 

Ian looks around; eyes darting out onto the sidewalk where they are parked and he even touches the rig’s walkie but its off. 

“Mickey?” 

There’s a soft laugh. “What are you wearing?” 

“Where are you?” Ian keeps looking around because what the fuck? He grabs his phone from his pocket but he’s not connected to any call. How is Mickey doing this? How does he have his number? 

“Wouldn't you like to know?” 

“I would. I would really like to know.” 

Mickey laughs again. “Been thinking about me?” 

What is happening right now? Ian swallows. “Yeah.” 

“What about?” 

Ian shifts in his seat and eyes Sue as she waits inside the café for their food. “You know what I’ve been thinking about.” 

“Mmm.” Ian hears the shuffle as Mickey moves. “Like my cock?” 

Ian’s eyes slide shut. There is just something about Mickey’s voice and the memory of Mickey’s words that night while he sucked him off invade his mind. “Yeah.” 

“You liked sucking my cock, didn’t you Gallagher? Bet it's all you’ve been able to think about.” 

“Mickey...” Ian whispers as his own cock comes to life in his uniform pants. No, this can't happen. He can't get a fucking hard on when he’s about to go back to work. He can't do this with Sue right next to him. “I can't do this right now. I’m working.” 

“You a pussy, Gallagher? Didn’t seem like one when you sucked my dick through that hole. Sneaky fucker you are, huh? Saw me go into that bathroom and what?” 

“Wanted you.” Ian moans. 

“Yeah? You want it again, don’t you?” 

“Y-yes.” 

“Say it.” 

“What?” 

“Fucking say it, Red.” 

“I-” Ian stammers, swallowing the pornographic things on the tip of his tongue. “I want you.” 

“How bad?” 

“Really bad, Mickey.” 

“You gonna beg like a little bitch? Huh? Beg to suck my cock again?” 

Is he? Would he? Jesus this is hot. He can't even care anymore how the fuck Mickey is talking to him right now. He honestly doesn’t fucking care. He just wants to keep hearing Mickey’s voice talk like this to him while his own cock leaks in his boxers. He doesn’t care that his partner is just a few feet away and he has to go back to work. He’d work all fucking day with Mickey in his ear if he had to. Because if Mickey hangs up right now, he may die. 

“Would that make you let me suck it again?” Two can play this game. 

“I dunno, Red. You crossed a line. Think you deserve it? Think you deserve to have your mouth on me?” 

“You tell me, Mick. You’re the one hacking into my phone. Seems like you can't get me outta your head either.” 

“Mmm.” Mickey’s heavy breathing is loud in Ian’s ear. “Hard to get is getting me hard, Gallagher.” 

“Yeah? You jerking off for me, Mick?” 

“Guess you’ll never know.” 

“Why’s that?” Ian is breathless. Literally breathless. 

“Cause you won't beg for it. And you ain’t getting shit until you beg.” 

The loud beep announces Mickey disconnecting and Ian’s heart is beating right out of his chest and his dick is tented and straining in his pants. 

What the fuck just happened?  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
 ** _Like the naked leads the blind  
I know I'm selfish, I'm unkind   
Sucker love I always find   
Someone to bruise and leave behind_**  
  
Mickey thumbs his bottom lip as he listens to Ian’s heavy breathing. He can hear the whooshing of the air in Ian’s blue tooth and the thud, thud, thud, as Ian’s sneakers hit the pavement. 

“I know you’re there. It beeps every-” Hard breath. “-time you connect.” 

“Maybe I like to hear that heavy breathing.” 

Ian chuckles and Mickey can tell he’s stopped running and can hear the swallow of probably water Ian takes as he calms his breathing. “You could hear it in person if you wouldn’t stop being such a pussy.” 

“I told you what I wanted.” 

“You could also stop hacking into my blue tooth and just call me on the phone like a sane person.” 

Mickey bites at his lip. “Where’s the fun in that?” 

“Do you listen to me sleep, too? Cause I snore. That can’t be fun for you.” 

“Don't worry about what I’m listening to.” 

Ian mutters a soft “Mm hm” and starts running again. Mickey likes to hear the soft grunts Ian makes when he’s running. He likes to hear the sharp intakes of breath when Ian’s pushing himself too hard. It reminds Mickey of sex and its almost as good as the real thing. Because Mickey has fantasies now. Dirty, nasty fantasies that all star the red headed ginger. 

“If you’d just beg, I’d let you fuck me.” 

And just like that, Ian stops running. Abruptly. Mickey can tell because he can practically hear the screech of Ian’s sneakers when he skids to a dead stop. Mickey laughs silently to himself. Gotcha, Gallagher. 

“W-What?” 

“What part of that sentence confused you, Gallagher?” 

“I... you want that?” 

“As much fun as this is; getting you hard while you’re riding with your partner. Listening to jerk off every night and moan my name. Listening to your fucking annoying family fight and your open mouth chewing; I'm getting a little bored.” 

“What? Did you think this would annoy me, Mick? I mean at first it was weird but I figured if you went through all the trouble to figure out how to do this-” 

“Had some help.” 

“And here I thought you were a genius.” 

Mickey laughs out loud at that one. “Who says I’m not.” 

“If you were a genius you wouldn’t have figured out already that you don’t need to do all this shit if you wanna fuck me. You just need to ask." 

“I ain’t asking for shit.” 

“Oh, right. You want me to beg for it.” 

“That’s what I’ve been saying for a week now.” 

Ian sighs heavily. “This whole thing is really fucked up, Mickey.” 

“You’re stalling.” 

“And you’re confusing.” 

“Nah, I’m not. Pretty simple, Red.” 

“This a power thing for you? I sucked your dick without you knowing it was me and now you gotta make yourself seem like you’re in charge?” 

Mickey’s gonna punch this fucker in the face. After he sucks his dick. 

“I am in charge.” 

“Says the bottom.” 

“Liking what I like don’t make me a bitch.” 

Ian laughs and Mickey can hear the unlocking of a door. Ian’s home and Mickey knows he’s going to shower now and get into bed. And jerk off. Probably twice. Moaning Mickey’s name because he knows Mickey is listening. It's not boring; it's just...Mickey wants more. He needs more. He needs Ian. And it’s a weird feeling to have. It's not something he’s ever felt before. This under the skin attraction to someone. He’s never had someone and had to have them again. His skin itches with the need to see Ian again and it scares the shit out of him. 

“I’ll make you a deal.” 

“This isn't a negotiation, Gallagher.” 

“Hear me out.” 

Mickey groans. 

“I’ll beg you. I’ll even get on my fucking knees and plead. But we hang out first. No punches thrown in an alley. No awkward conversations over apples. Just me and you.” 

“No fucking way.” 

“What are you afraid of? That you might actually like me?” 

“I like the way you suck cock. That’s what I’m interested in.” 

“And you’ll get it. I promise. I don’t break promises. I will beg. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. But we hang out before.” 

“This isn't a date. I ain’t gonna hold your hand and kiss you in public.” 

“You kinda already did, Mick.” 

“Oh, fuck off.” 

But Mickey smiles. This fucking asshole makes him smile. And that’s why he can't just hang out with the guy. Because if Ian can make Mickey smile like this just from talking to him, he’s terrified of what he can do when it's just the two of them ‘hanging out’ as Gallagher likes to put it. 

“I will suck your cock. I will lick every inch of your skin. I’ll eat your ass for hours. I will fuck you all night long until you pass out. But we are going to go out in public first. We can even do something southside if you want. Shoot some cans with some stolen guns?” 

Mickey snorts. “You think I don’t have any guns?” 

“I’m betting on it.” 

Mickey chews his bottom lip. “Fine. 2 hours. And then I get your cock. But this doesn’t mean you win.” 

“Never thought it did, Mick.” 

“When’s your next night off?” 

“Thursday. Think you can hold off till then?” 

“You think I’m over here panting for your ass, Gallagher? I can wait 2 days.” 

Ian sighs softly. “I think your aching for it, Milkovich.” He says softly. It makes Mickey shiver and his eyes slide shut. Fuck. 

“Thursday. 6pm. Abandoned building on Walnut. You know it?” 

“I know it.” 

“Don’t fucking be late.” 

“Wouldn't dream of it. Night, Mick.” 

Mickey digs his fingernails into the palms of his fists and breathes in and out heavily. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. This wasn’t the plan. Why does this fuckhead just...do that? How does he do that? Because Mickey lets him. But it's fine. He’ll give Gallagher this little inch, then Mickey will get all of his inches and then he can kick him the fuck out like he planned on. Ian will be devastated and Mickey will have done what he planned to do. Because Mickey doesn’t date. He especially doesn’t date red haired tall motherfuckers who dance like some kinda go-go boy and wear button up fucking shirts to the club. He doesn’t date guys who stalk his ass all over the southside. 

And he especially doesn’t date assholes who think they can make Mickey their bitch. Because he is no one’s bitch. 

But Mickey can’t deny anymore that Ian is making him feel things; things he’s not used to. Things he isn’t even sure how to name as he feels them. If Mickey isn’t careful, if Mickey thinks about it a little too long, it might just be that he actually likes this guy.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~~*  
  
 ** _'Cause I've done some things that I can't speak  
And I tried to wash you away, but you just won't leave   
So, won't you take a breath and dive in deep?   
'Cause I came here so you'd come for me_**  
  
Ian taps his foot against the roof of the building as he lights his 4th cigarette in 15 minutes. He was early; because he’s nervous as fuck but he doesn’t want Mickey to know that. He’s wearing a soft worn green t-shirt and faded jeans and sneakers. He barely spent any time on his hair after his shower because he didn’t want to seem like he was trying too hard. For all he knew Mickey was agreeing to meet him up here so he could beat the shit out of him again. He wouldn’t put it past him. Mickey was unpredictable. Hot and cold. Always one step ahead of Ian, no matter how hard Ian tries to play his stupid game. 

Maybe Mickey does just want to get him in bed and be done. Ian is like a challenge for him; even though he’s really not. Ian’s ready. He will fuck Mickey anytime, anyplace. But that’s not what Mickey wants. Mickey needs to be the one in charge; to show Ian that he’s calling the shots. That he doesn’t just bend over for anyone. And Ian knows he doesn’t. But Ian isn't one to back down. He can play games just as well as Mickey can, and he’s proving that by Mickey agreeing to meet him. If he even comes at all. It would be such a Mickey thing to do to stand him up. To prove, yet again, he doesn’t answer to anyone. 

He hears the sound of boots on the stairs leading up to the roof and Ian chucks his cigarette away as soon as Mickey comes into his line of site. Ian exhales sharply. 

“Knew you’d come.” Ian says stepping toward Mickey. Neither of them hesitating. There’s this look in Mickey’s eyes that makes Ian’s skin warm. Mickey just stalks towards him and for a second Ian thinks he really did come here to beat the shit out of him because Ian’s shirt is being fisted into Mickey’s tattooed knuckles and Ian flinches for a moment thinking he’s about to be head bashed into the wall behind him. 

But instead Mickey just stares at him; holding him close by the front of his shirt; small sharp hot puffs of air in Ian’s face close to his mouth. His blue eyes keep flickering between Ian’s eyes and his mouth; Mickey’s expression softening by the second. Ian has no idea what’s happening, but he’s letting it all happen as Mickey takes control, yet again, of the situation. And it's fine with Ian, as long as Mickey’s body keeps pressing against his and Ian can smell the faint scent of beer and cigarettes on Mickey’s tongue. Ian’s own breathing is shallow; his body trying to remain calm as his mind works in overdrive. He had every intention of this going a lot differently. He figured they were either going to fight or argue or banter back and forth like they normally do. He didn’t expect this; whatever this is. 

It takes Mickey almost a full 3 minutes to speak. Ian may have been counting Mississippi's in his head because it was the only way to keep him from saying something stupid or perverted or smashing his mouth into Mickey’s which is still, so fucking close to his. 

“How’d you do it, man?” 

Ian swallows and breathes out slowly against Mickey’s mouth. So close. So, fucking close. “Do what?” He whispers. 

“Get under my fucking skin?” 

Ian’s heart stutters and begins to pound in his chest at Mickey’s words. Jesus Christ, he’s so close and Ian’s body is reacting to his in such a primal and natural way. He’s never had this feeling before; yes, there’s attraction, want, but there’s something else under the surface. This feeling of calm. Contentment. Like Ian is right where he’s supposed to be. All the noise in his head is gone. There is no fear. No doubt. Just peace. 

“The fuck do I do?” Mickey asks softly. He looks so confused. Lost. Scared. And in that moment, Ian realizes how much he doesn’t know about Mickey. Mickey with the knuckle tattoos. Mickey with the scar above his eyebrow. Mickey with the quick reflexes and scary father that he’d only heard stories about around the neighborhood and from Mandy when they were younger. He doesn’t know anything about Mickey’s pain. Because Ian can recognize that anywhere. Ian wears his own pain on his sleeve; clear as day for anyone to see. But Mickey hides his behind curses and threats. But Mickey isn't hiding anything right now. His face is so soft; so delicate in a way Ian has never seen before. 

Ian brings his hand up from where it was laying at his side and gently, so fucking gently, brushes his fingertips along Mickey’s jaw. Mickey’s eyes flutter at the gentleness and within seconds his eyes sharpen, almost embarrassed it seems that he reacted like that to Ian’s touch. But Ian doesn’t pull back. He presses his fingers harder into Mickeys jaw, sliding his hand down until he can feel Mickey’s heartbeat at his pulse point. Mickey just searches his eyes; eyes shifting, softening, then hardening every other second. So conflicted. 

“Mickey...” Ian slides his hand to back of Mickey’s head, feeling how soft his hair is at the edge of his neckline. Mickey’s eyes slide shut and stay shut. “Why’d you come?” 

Mickey swallows hard. “Can’t seem to stay the fuck away from you.” 

“Then don’t.” 

Mickey opens his eyes and then Ian sees it. Mickey smiles. Teeth and lips upturned and Ian knows, this is it. The moment people talk about when their world changes. When everything Ian thought he knew about love and lust and sex and happiness and pain all disappear. This is the moment, this blip of a second, when he knows he will never be the same. 

“Okay.” Mickey whispers. “Okay. You win.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhh man. Mickey can't deny it anymore. He likes Ian. He wants Ian. But nothing is ever that simple with our boys is it? 
> 
> Thank you ALL for the comments and subscribing. I hope this keeps you going for the next few days. The next chapter is an important one. <3


	5. But the rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian breaks down some of Mickey's walls. 
> 
> Mickey allows Ian in, but lets his fear get the best of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to make you swoon, sweat, tear up and get angry. 
> 
> This one is going to hurt. 
> 
> But I promise it gets better. 
> 
> I love these two idiots and all of you for reading and commenting. This is the longest chapter to date and it took a lot out of me to write. Might be a few days to a week until the next chapter because I need to recoup and get my thoughts in order about where I am taking these two next. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this. Again thank you ALL. 
> 
> <3

  
  
  
  
**_They told me all of my cages were mental  
So I got wasted like all my potential   
And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad   
I have a lot of regrets about that   
I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere   
Fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here   
Pouring out my heart to a stranger   
But I didn't pour the whiskey_**  
  
  
Mickey watches at the rock falls gently out of his hand and down almost 4 stories down onto the sidewalk below his dangling feet. It seems fitting; not that he’s really one for metaphors; watching the rock fall so seamlessly, like it doesn’t even know its fate. That’s how Mickey feels right now with Ian sitting next to him on the roof; their feet over the side; shoulders touching in such an innocent yet intimate way. They haven't said much since Mickey pretty much admitted how much of a bitch he was. And Mickey just keeps throwing pieces of concrete over the side of the roof and watching them fall. Just like he did. 

12-D-1. That’s the EMT dispatch call for an Extreme Fall. And again, Mickey isn’t one for metaphors but it's exactly what’s happening to him. He’s falling for Gallagher. He doesn’t know how it happened, or when, but as he listens to Ian’s soft breathing next to him and the way Ian keeps rubbing the palms of his hands on his jeans in this nervous tick kinda way, he knows there is literally nowhere else he wants to be. 

“So...” Ian finally breaks the silence and side eyes Mickey as if he’s afraid if he speaks too loudly or too directly at him it's going to scare him off. Little does Ian know fucking gunshots directed right at Mickey’s head couldn’t drag him away. 

“What?” Mickey reaches into his sweatshirt for his cigarettes, lighting two and handing one to Ian without even glancing at him. The sky is becoming a swirl of oranges and reds as the sun sets and it might be the first time in a long time that Mickey has actually just sat still to watch it. Ian’s watching it too; smoking his cigarette leisurely and swinging his legs over the edge of the roof. Mickey feels like a teenager again or at least what he wishes his teenage years could have been. Sitting on the roof with a boy he likes; sexual tension and nerves on the surface of his skin. But his teenage years were nothing like this. He has the scars to prove it. He rubs his finger above his eyebrow and can feel Ian looking at him. 

“How’d you get that?” 

Mickey swallows hard and flicks his cigarette out into the air and watches as it flutters through the late afternoon wind and down. Extreme Fall. 

“Pistol whipped.” 

“Gang fight?” Ian smirks at him, reaching out to run his fingertip gently across the scar. Mickey flinches at first but then relaxes wondering how something could feel so tender against something so brutal. He reaches up, taking Ian’s hand in his and intertwines their fingers. Ian looks surprised, but holds his hand firmly and settles their combined hands on Mickey’s lap. 

“Dad.” 

Ian visibly frowns. “I always fucking hated that guy. I mean I didn’t know him personally, but I saw him around, mostly at the Alibi or heard him yelling out of car windows most of the time. And Mandy told me stories.” 

“Anything she said was probably true.” 

Ian leans in and rests his head on Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey can't help but tense; he’s not used someone touching him or being this close to him without violence or fucking. He isn't sure the last time someone has shown him pure affection. Probably Mandy when she hugged him goodbye when she moved away. But that was 3 years ago and she’s his sister. That doesn’t count. 

“Guess we both had fucked up childhoods.” 

Mickey presses his cheek into Ian’s forehead and his eyes slide shut. He doesn’t know how this is happening. How his body just reacts to Ian’s this way. How he is even letting this happen. Mickey doesn’t let people get this close. He doesn’t let people just cuddle him, because that’s exactly what Ian is doing with him right now. Holding his hand; snuggling up against his shoulder. His heart begins to beat heavily in his chest and his instinct to run flairs up but Ian just squeezes his hand. 

“I want to know you.” 

Mickey feels a shiver run over his body. No, he can't do this. 

“No, you don’t. You...I’m not good for you, Gallagher. You need some preppy North side guy. You ain’t gonna get anywhere with me. I’m nothing.” 

“Preppy North Side guys are boring. I don’t want boring. I want someone who makes me feel something. You make me feel something.” Ian pauses. “And that’s not nothing.” 

Mickey snorts. “That’s just the wanting to fuck each other.” 

Ian rubs his nose against Mickey’s shoulder. “Some of it, sure. But not all of it.” 

“This isn't going to end well, Red. Please trust me. You seem like a good guy and I’m just not. So, if you wanna fuck, we can go fuck, but that’s it. That’s all it can be.” 

“I don’t believe that. Don’t you want someone? Aren't you lonely?” 

“I’ve been lonely my whole life, Gallagher. I’m good on my own. I’m not good with people. I go to work and I go home. I do what I need to survive. I fuck when I need to fuck and that’s it. You probably got dreams and things you want out of life and some boyfriend, but I’m telling you right now, no matter what you think you feel, or fuck even what I think I feel, it's not gonna be anything good in the end.” Mickey tries to pull his hand away from Ian’s but he holds firm. He lifts his head from Mickey’s shoulder. 

“Look at me.” Ian demands and Mickey just gives him a sideways glance. “I’m fucked up too. I’m not some perfect guy with some do-gooder job. I’ve done really fucked up shit. I’ve hurt people and myself. And I get the loneliness. I get the pain of being from this town. I get asshole parents and dead parents. Just because you and I handle what has happened to us differently, doesn’t mean that everything is going to be shit.” 

“You don’t understand.” Mickey practically whispers. “I can't let anyone get close to me. Every time I do...” Mickey chokes on his words. “I can't talk about this. It doesn’t matter how much I want you. All it can be is sex.” 

“Then why’d you come here, Mick? Huh? Why go through all this? You knew I wanted to sleep with you. You could have just asked me.” Ian stands abruptly and Mickey has to be careful he doesn’t fall over the edge. 

“Jesus, Gallagher.” Mickey stands, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I told you I didn’t want to do this.” 

“Yeah, and then you show up with the ‘you’re under my skin’ bullshit. You feel something for me and I get it, you don’t want to, but face it Mickey you do. You want me just as much as I want you and it's not just about the sex. There’s something here and all I’m asking is for us to get to know each other. Hang out. Eat food. Play Xbox. Watch shitty movies. Fuck each other’s brains out. Cause all I want to do is keep spending time with you.” 

Mickey just stares at Ian as he rants and paces and makes hand gestures. And Mickey finds himself smiling. He’s smiling at this tall, hot, motherfucker who for some reason wants Mickey. He doesn’t get it; and he knows this is going to end up in flames; but his willpower is fading and, in the end, he will get to tell Ian ‘I told you so’ and maybe that will be all worth it. 

“You’re real fucking annoying, you know that?” 

Ian stops pacing and gives Mickey that smile. It's practically dark out now; the only light coming from the rising moon and the streetlights from down below. But Ian’s smile; the smile that Mickey can feel is just for him; makes his skin flush with warmth and want and need. And it fills up something inside Mickey he didn’t even know was empty until he saw it. 

“I think you like it.” Ian walks to him, slowly, still careful not to spook Mickey like some kind of feral animal, and wraps his abnormally large hands around the back of Mickey’s head. He presses his forehead gently to his and Mickey breathes out slowly. He knows this is a mistake. He knows that no matter what he does; no matter how much he thinks he wants this, or can do this; it's going to end in flames. 

But as Ian presses his mouth to Mickey’s; lips hot and wet and his tongue sliding perfectly against Mickey’s; Mickey knows he will gladly burn.  
  
*~*~*~**~ 

**_And when I felt like I was an old cardigan  
Under someone's bed   
You put me on and said I was your favorite_**  
  
  
“So, this is it.” Mickey pushes his apartment door open after unlocking it and motions for Ian to enter. Ian steps in cautiously, feeling weird invading Mickey’s space like this. Yeah, it was Mickey’s idea for them to go to his place, even though Ian’s was technically closer, but Ian knows it was just one more way of Mickey taking control over the situation. And Ian would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about Mickey’s life. Even if this was just one tiny piece of the puzzle that makes up all that Mickey is. But it was a start. 

“Not bad.” Mickey has a ratty old couch, but it looks clean and there’s a knit blanket hung over the back of it and Ian thinks about Mickey at night, marathoning something on Netflix, all cuddled up with that blanket. He wonders where Mickey got it; if he picked it up at some thrift store or maybe it belonged to his grandmother. There is just so much Ian doesn’t know. 

The kitchen is just off the living room; small but cozy with very little cabinets and even an even smaller amount of counter space. The fridge is small and so is the stove. But it works. There are a few empty beer bottles scattered on the counter but Mickey has a coffee pot and the sugar canister is still out and a used spoon lying next to that and Ian thinks about Mickey waking up in the mornings and making coffee for himself. Like a normal person. Because Mickey is just a normal guy no matter what kind of God like pedestal Ian’s put him on or how much Mickey thinks he’s a piece of shit with nothing to offer anyone. 

There’s a small hallway off the kitchen with 2 doors on opposite sides of each other. Ian knows it must contain a bathroom and Mickey’s bedroom. His heart rate picks up at the thought. He knows they are gonna fuck. He knows that’s what he’s here for. He just isn't sure if they are going to get right down to it; this is still Mickey’s show-he's calling the shots; or if they are going to dance around each other for a while. 

“Wanna beer?” 

Okay, dancing it is. 

“Sure.” 

Mickey takes 2 beers from the small dingy fridge and uncaps both of them in one shot. He hands one to Ian, already sipping on his. Nerves. Ian gets that. 

“So, do you wanna watch something on Netflix or-” 

“You wanna chit chat, or you wanna get on me?” 

Dancing over. 

Ian places his beer down gently on the counter next to him and crowds Mickey against the fridge. It clangs and creaks as Mickey’s back hits it and Mickey’s eyes darken and he smirks up at Ian. 

“Not much for small talk, huh?” Ian presses his mouth against Mickey’s neck and listens and feels the sharp intake of breath out of Mickey. 

“We talked enough on that roof.” 

“Riiiight. Just fucking. That’s all I get. You still on that?” 

“It’s the truth.” Mickey breathes against the side of Ian’s face and Ian can feel how hard Mickey’s heart is beating in his chest. He can feel Mickey’s pulse against his lips and how his cock is hardening in his jeans against Ian’s thigh. 

“I don’t believe you.” Ian whispers, sucking a dark mark into Mickey’s neck. A whine escapes Mickey’s throat and Ian knew it. No matter how hard Mickey tries to fight this, he wants it. Not just Ian’s body and cock, but this. This intimacy. This feeling of having Ian touching him. Close to him. Mickey is lonely; Ian can feel it radiating off of Mickey in waves. Mickey doesn’t have to feel that way anymore. Neither does Ian. They can have each other. In so many different ways. 

“Come on, Gallagher. Ain’t got all night.” Mickey pushes his clothed cock hard against Ian’s thigh; rolling his hips in a sinful way that leads Ian’s mind to wander about the way Mickey will writhe underneath him. 

“Actually, we do. And I promised you I would fuck you all night.” Ian’s lips place small open-mouthed kisses all along Mickey’s neck, over his jaw and up to his mouth. He hovers over Mickey’s and watches as Mickey’s tongue sweeps across his bottom lip in anticipation. 

“Didn't beg first.” Mickey teases, small lingering breathes floating over Ian’s mouth. 

“Don’t need to.” Ian presses Mickey harder against the fridge so Mickey can feel how hard his cock is against Mickey. “You can feel it, can’t you? How much I want you? How just being this close to you makes me fucking crazy? You really need me to stroke your ego that much that you need me to beg for your ass?” 

“You’re not stroking anything else.” Mickey murmurs, pressing his bottom lip gently to Ian’s. It’s such a simple gesture; one you might miss if Ian wasn’t chronicling every single thing that has happened between them since they met. But it meant something. That tiny brush of lips. Mickey’s walls were coming down, so slowly but so beautifully. He can feel Mickey’s hands so soft on his hips. How Mickey’s nose keeps bumping his. It's all so perfect. Ian never wants this moment to end. 

“Please.” Ian whispers it; not exactly sure what he’s begging for. But when Mickey presses his mouth, scorching hot against Ian’s, he realizes that that’s what he was pleading for. The softness. The crumbling walls. Mickey; open and honest against his lips. 

They kiss like they fight. Battling and grabbing. Knees, hands and pushes and pulls. Teeth and tongues. Ian feels dizzy with feelings and warmth and when Mickey pushes Ian; his back leaving the fridge causing a few magnets to fall off and onto the floor; and back down the small hallway, Ian feels a shift in his life. He already knows this is going to be the best fuck of his life. He isn't sure how; yeah, he’s sucked Mickey’s dick but...it's the way Mickey carries himself. How he kisses. How he talks. All tough and violent but Ian knows there’s a softness to him too. And Ian’s had soft sex. He’s had dirty crazy sex. But this, this will be both and for the first time probably ever, Ian’s nervous. 

Ian is pushed into Mickey’s bedroom and he doesn’t have time to even take in his surroundings before his ass is hitting the bed with a bounce and Mickey is laying his body on top of his. He’s kissing Ian; grabbing at his face and angling his chin wherever he wants it. Ian is used to be the one in charge in the bedroom, but he knows when it comes to Mickey, he needs to let go of some of that dominance. He has to if he wants this. And fuck, he wants this. 

Mickey drags his lips down Ian’s throat and pulls the neck of Ian’s shirt down to mouth at his collarbone and chest. Ian’s hands ruffle Mickey’s hair and it's so soft Ian almost moans at the feel of it. Mickey slides his hands under Ian’s t-shirt, dragging his nails bluntly over his abs and Ian’s bucks his hips up off the bed with a groan. “Fuck, Mickey.” 

Mickey just laughs as he moves down the bed to lick at the skin on his stomach and presses his nose into the happy trail of hair above the waistband of his jeans. He uses his teeth to flick the button of his jeans open and Ian is panting so loudly its echoing off Mickey’s bedroom walls. Mickey looks up at him; blue eyes shimmering with something different that Ian hasn’t seen before. He can't quite place the emotion hiding behind Mickey’s eyes; Ian’s seen a lot the past few hours. Confusion, fear, need and want. But this one; this one is the most beautiful. Because Mickey looks happy. 

Ian grabs Mickey underneath his arm pits and hauls him up to him, crashing their mouths together; teeth clinking together that makes them both giggle like a couple of teenagers. 

“Calm down, Gallagher. Don’t break my fucking teeth.” 

“Wouldn't want to do that. If I’m gonna break anything, it's going to be this bed fucking you into it.” Ian bites at Mickey’s shoulder; a soft patch of skin showing through his shirt. Mickey presses his hips hard into Ian’s. 

“Fuck, get your clothes off. Now.” Mickey moans nipping at Ian’s cheek. 

They undress quickly and clumsily, and it's another thing Ian isn't used to. He’s used to almost erotic sex; two men coming together almost like a porno movie with a script and angles. But this feels more erotic than any other experience. Because this man, pushing his jeans and boxers down in front of him, is more than just some fantasy, no matter how many dreams he’s had the starring role in for Ian. He’s real. This is real for Ian. And he doesn’t understand how that can be when Ian knows he barely knows Mickey. Mickey isn't open like most of the guys Ian’s been with. Had relationships with. He’s used to dinners where his dates unload every single piece of baggage out on the table to for Ian to shuffle through and decide if it's something Ian wants to take on. 

Mickey has barely shown him anything, but Ian doesn’t care. Because Mickey isn't the kind of guy to use words to show what he feels or what he’s been through. He uses actions. Ian can feel it in Mickey’s kisses. His gentle touches of hands on Ian’s skin now that he’s naked and lying back on Mickey’s bed as Mickey slides his fingertips along every part of Ian’s body. Mickey is looking at him in awe and Ian can't take his eyes off Mickey’s; watching as they cloud over with emotion with every shiver and goosebump that forms on Ian’s skin as Mickey touches him. This is different. Ian feels different. 

He knows he’s never going to want anyone else but Mickey from now on. Ian wants every part of him. His darkness and light. His pain and happiness. His violence and gentleness. All of it. Mickey is sitting up above him, knees on either side of Ian’s body, running his hands up and down, over and under, everywhere on Ian. He keeps just missing Ian’s red and swollen cock leaking all over himself. 

“Christ, Gallagher. Rumors were true. What is that? 9 inches?” 

Ian laughs, hiding his face in his hands. He’s never been embarrassed. He’s proud of his cock. But the way Mickey is teasing him about it almost makes him feel self-conscious for the first time ever. “9 and a quarter actually.” 

“Of course, you fucking measured it, tool bag.” Mickey finally grabs it firmly in his hand and gives is a delicious upward tug and Ian. Practically. Loses. His. Mind. 

“Shit, fuck.” Ian groans. If just Mickey jerking him off gets him this close to the edge, he has no idea how he’s going to manage fucking Mickey without blowing his load in 2 seconds. 

“I’d return the favor from the bathroom but there’s no way I can fit this thing in my mouth.” Mickey brings his hand up to his mouth and spits into his palm before returning it to Ian’s cock and strokes him; hot and wet from his spit and Ian feels his balls draw up and the base of his dick tingle with his impending and way too soon orgasm. 

“Mick, stop or I’m gonna-” 

“What? You gonna cum, Red? Like you did in your pants in the bathroom? I turn you on that much? Or you just a two-pump chump?” 

Ian hisses through clenched teeth pushes his cock harder into Mickey’s hand. “You want me to cum like this or you want me to cum in your ass?” 

“What? Too old to go again?” Mickey starts sliding his hand over Ian’s cock, deliberately slow. 

“Fuck off.” Ian moans and grips Mickey’s wrist tightly. “This really how you want me to cum?” 

“You said we had all night.” Mickey gently wrenches Ian’s hand off his wrist and goes back to the fast but gentle jerk on his cock. Ian trembles, eyes squeezing shut and letting go to just the feel of Mickey’s hands on him. One hand jerking him feverishly, the other trailing over his chest and over his nipples; rolling them between his fingers causing Ian to pant and whine deep in his throat. His release creeps up on him, only mere seconds of knowledge before he whispers a simple ‘oh’ before cumming all over Mickey’s fist. Mickey moans a little and when Ian opens his eyes, he watches Mickey as his eyes slide closed as the feeling of Ian cumming all over him. When he’s milked every drop out of Ian, he opens his eyes and locks them with Ian’s, bringing his hand up to his mouth to lick his fingers and palm slowly and pornographically; moaning with every flick of his tongue. 

Ian’s cock jerks a little at the site and Mickey leans over him to share the wealth, licking into Ian’s waiting and open mouth. Its dirty, downright filthy and Ian knows yeah, he will definitely be able to go again. 

“You eat a lot of fruit huh?” Mickey mumbles against his lips. “Tastes sweet.” 

Ian smiles and brushes his fingers along Mickey’s forehead. “Yeah? Yours tastes like beer.” 

And then Mickey laughs. Not some short laugh Ian is used to seeing. Annoyed huffs of laughter he’s gotten on many occasions from Mickey. No, this is a beaming and loud sound coursing out of Mickey and it causes Ian to smile wide. They just look at each other for a few minutes; fingertips brushing over blushed cheeks. This is different. This feels different. Mickey has to feel it too. You can’t fake that.  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~  
  
 ** _  
Suddenly this summer, it's clear  
I never had the courage of my convictions   
As long as danger is near   
And it's just around the corner, darlin'   
'Cause it lives in me   
No, I could never give you peace_**  
  
Mickey should stop this. Tell Ian to get the fuck out. There’s been too much gentleness. Too much laughter. Too much kissing and soft touches of hands and fingers. He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t touch other men’s bodies; admiring the way their abs twitch and how hot and heavy their cocks feel in his hand. He doesn’t look at someone and think to himself how beautiful someone is. 

Because Ian is. Beautiful. 

After Ian cums they lay together for about 15 minutes; getting into easy but an in-depth conversation about their jobs. Mickey talks about how sometimes his calls get to him; when he has to calm down a screaming mother whose child isn't breathing. How he has to talk her through how to give CPR. How sometimes they start breathing again, and sometimes...they don’t. Ian watches him with sincere empathy in his eyes and then goes into a story about a 5-year-old last year that got hit by a hit and run driver while riding his bike. How he tried everything to save him; probably spent a little too much time trying to save him; but in the end, couldn’t. How he had to watch the boy’s mother cradle him in her arms, screaming and crying and still demanding Ian and his partner to ‘just do something’ when in reality Ian knew he did all he could. 

He told Mickey it still haunts him. That it had been one of the worst days of his life. Mickey finds himself wanting to know all the worst days of Ian’s life and in return wanting to tell Ian’s his. Because as much as Mickey wants to believe Ian is better than him; and Mickey knows he is in so many ways; they are just two kids who grew up in the Southside. Who had shitty parents and did stupid crap to just survive. They both have their demons; their own tragic stories to tell; but Mickey just isn't sure if Ian can handle his. His demons cause him unable and unwilling to commit and Ian’s cause him to crave and need commitment. Mickey isn't sure how this could ever work. And its why he should kick Ian out right now. 

But Ian is warm and soft next to him. Their fingers sliding against each other as they touch and sharing soft kisses in between sentences. Mickey doesn’t do this. This isn't who he is. But its someone Ian is making Mickey into in just a few short hours. Because Ian had been right, he is lonely. But he isn't right now. And he should enjoy it before it all bursts into flames like he knows it will. 

When the conversation fades out and the kisses become more heated, Ian rolls on top of Mickey and slides his hardening cock against Mickey’s. “You haven't cum yet.” He whispers. 

Mickey bites at Ian’s chiseled jaw. “Was waiting until you were inside me, tough guy.” 

“Mmm, now I owe you two orgasms.” 

“Bring it on, Fire crotch.” 

Ian laughs at the nickname and kisses Mickey with everything he has. Mickey feels that kiss all the way down his body. His legs shake from it and it confuses him and scares him but he doesn’t let it ruin this moment. When they begin rutting against each other like 16-year old's, Mickey reaches over to pull the drawer open on his bedside table. He pulls out a bottle of lube and a condom and drops them on the bed beside them. Ian pulls off him to lean over to look in the drawer but Mickey slams it shut roughly. 

“What else you got in there?” Ian smirks, trying to pry Mickey’s hand off the handle. 

“Don't fucking worry about it.” 

Ian smiles. “Mmm. We can play with your toys later, Mick. Don’t need to be embarrassed. Plus, I bet they are way more fun when someone else uses them on you.” Mickey feels his face flush and all he can do is pull Ian down into another kiss by the back of his neck. They laugh against each other’s mouths and Mickey feels the surge of fear at the sound. He takes a few deep breathes when Ian moves up into a sitting position over Mickey, grabbing the bottle of lube and snapping the cap open. 

Ian slicks a few fingers and slides down Mickey’s body. “Spread your legs. Feet on the bed.” Mickey’s eyes narrow at the red head’s demands but in the end, does what he’s told. Only because if he doesn’t get something of Ian’s in his ass soon, he’s going to explode from anticipation. Ian kisses the inside of Mickey’s thighs and Mickey squeezes his eyes shut. No one’s ever done this before. He’s never let someone this close to him to do it. It's too gay, too intimate. But fuck if it doesn’t feel amazing. He feels Ian trace his finger in a circular motion over his opening and Mickey can't help the noises he makes. 

“Don’t fucking tease.” Mickey growls as Ian just lightly touches his hole. 

“But it's so fun.” Ian bites gently at Mickey’s thighs and Mickey’s hips snap up. 

“Fuuuuck.” 

Ian takes that moment, with Mickey’s ass up off the bed, to slide a finger inside him. And Christ, that’s good. Mickey breathes heavily as Ian works his finger inside him. In, out. In, out. Slow then fast. Changing pace every couple of seconds. When Mickey feels a second finger side along the first, his cock twitches and pumps out a couple of drops of precum onto his stomach. He’s done this to himself before, managing only to get 3 fingers in at any angle, but this feels different. And so much better. 

Ian keeps his fingers inside him for a while-a little too long in Mickey’s opinion. Because Mickey is panting and writhing and Ian keeps rubbing the pads of his fingers over his sweet spot bringing him close to the brink before bringing him back down slowly. Its driving Mickey crazy in the best possible way. 

“Ian...” He breathes out. “Fuck me already.” 

“Needy bottom.” Ian chuckles and reaches his hand up, patting the bed, trying to feel the for the condom. Mickey grabs it and pushes it into Ian’s hand. Ian’s fingers slowly ease out of him and Mickey winces because now he feels open and vulnerable. “Christ, your hole is aching for it, isn't it? Look at that.” Ian rubs his finger over his winking opening and causing Mickey to mutter low almost inaudible curses. “Fuck, that’s hot.” And then Mickey feels it. Ian’s tongue is right there at his hole, just tiny little licks over it. And that is a new feeling. A sudden surge of pleasure coursing through Mickey’s body and Mickey white knuckles the sheets under his hands and tries to remember how to breathe. 

Ian just fucking eats his ass. Just like he said he would. He licks and sucks and Mickey can feel Ian’s spit sliding down into his crack and Mickey bites his bottom lip so hard he tastes blood. He’s going to cum. Like any second. He’s on the very edge, ready to fall off. He can feel it tingling on his skin and deep in his balls as Ian’s tongue fucks him deep in his ass. Ian is making these moans and sloppy noises like Mickey’s ass is the best thing he’s ever tasted. All Mickey can see are white splotches behind his closed eyes and he’s cumming. He’s cumming so hard he honestly screams. He arches off the bed, Ian’s mouth following and never leaving Mickey’s abused hole and Ian grabs at Mickey’s hips, pulling him closer, deeper, into Ian’s mouth. Mickey’s whole-body shudders with aftershocks, his throat raw from moaning and screaming. He can’t breathe. He feels like he can't breathe. But then Ian is there in his face when he opens his eyes. Eyes darting between Mickey’s blown pupils and teeth bitten lips. He looks down at Mickey’s cum stained stomach and runs his fingers through it before bringing it up to his mouth and sucking it off. Mickey breathes out a soft ‘fuck’ as he watches Ian’s swollen red lips taste him. 

“One.” Ian whispers and Mickey flips him off. 

“Mmmm.” Ian takes one last lick off his fingers. “Just like I remember.” 

Jesus fuck, this guy is going to kill him.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
 ** _And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound  
It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you_**  
  
Ian made Mickey cum untouched. That’s only happened one other time but Ian was fucking the guy when it happened. He doesn’t rim guys. It's not something he’s too keen on; you never really know where someone has been. Even in his relationships. He tried with Caleb, but like everything with Caleb, it really didn’t do anything for either of them. Caleb never reacted like Ian wanted to which made it boring for him. And Trevor, also never got the appeal and told Ian it tickled too much. But with Mickey? That was the exact reaction he knows is supposed to happen when he does it. It drove Mickey crazy to the point where he came without Ian even touching his cock or hitting his prostate and Ian knows somehow, without even getting his dick inside him yet, that he and Mickey just fit together sexually. Mickey seems to be into all the same things he is; and gets off on the dirty talk which Ian enjoys so fucking much. 

Ian strokes his cock a few times as he sits on Mickey’s legs, tearing open the condom with his teeth. Mickey watches him with hooded eyes as he rolls it onto himself, a little snug because honestly Ian needs magnums, but it will do for now. He lubes his cock, rubbing it down and over his dick, maybe a little too long, giving Mickey a show that he can tell is welcomed. Mickey just keeps watching his hands stroke himself and if Ian isn't careful, he’s going to nut right into the condom without ever getting inside Mickey’s ass. 

“Ready?” Ian asks and he waits for the sarcastic comment but it never comes. Mickey just nods, watching him. Ian swallows, suddenly nervous. He reaches out, grabbing Mickey’s legs under his knees and gives Mickey a look; asking him with his eyes if this position is ok. Mickey just nods again and Ian settles Mickey’s legs on his shoulders. He rubs the tip of his cock against Mickey’s hole and watches as it flutters, inviting him in. Ian takes a deep breath and pushes. 

He slides only a few inches in, knowing how big he is, and watches Mickey’s face for any signs of discomfort. Mickey’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open at the feeling of Ian finally inside him and lets out a long shuddering breath. And smiles gently. Ian pushes the rest of the way in and stills, feeling Mickey’s heat and tightness envelope him. Mickey feels amazing. Most asses do; fucking an ass is fucking an ass. It's almost always tight and hot but this feels so entirely different than any other sex he’s ever had. Even with boyfriends. Ian feels like he’s already about to cum and as he watches Mickey’s face shade over with pleasure its almost way too much. 

“You feel so good.” Ian whispers, rubbing his fingertips along Mickey’s ankles on his shoulders. Mickey licks his lips. 

“Big.” Mickey chokes out and Ian laughs. 

“Yeah...” Ian grabs Mickey’s ankles and slides almost all the way out before pushing back in, hard and deep right down to his balls as they smack against Mickey’s ass. Mickey arches off the bed, grabbing at the bunched blankets around him. Mickey’s head is thrown back and tongue almost hanging out of his mouth as he swallows gasps of air. Ian keeps doing it; sliding out painfully slow for the both of them and then slamming back in as hard and deep as he can. And Mickey takes it. He takes it all. He grunts and moans; Ian mirroring his noises. Ian finally leans over Mickey, capturing his mouth in a filthy open-mouthed kiss, which is really just their tongues licking over each other. 

“So, fucking tight, Mick. Feel so good around my cock. I love your ass.” 

Mickey moans and sucks on the tip of Ian’s tongue. “You gonna fill up my ass, Gallagher? Gonna give it to me like you promised?” 

“Fuck, yeah. Yeah.” 

And then Ian fucks him. He fucks him hard and fast, hips snapping and pushing Mickey up further up the bed with every thrust. Mickey hand slaps back against the headboard, grabbing it to keep himself from slamming his head against it. Ian knows when he finally hits that special spot inside Mickey because Mickey’s eyes roll back into his head and a low, long moan escapes Mickey’s throat. Ian bites down on his jugular as he pounds into and assaults his prostate. Mickey is sweaty and red and his hair is messy from his tattooed hand pulling at it and Ian watches as a drop of his own sweat of his forehead slides down his nose and onto Mickey’s chest. He leans down as much as he can in this position and takes Mickey’s right nipple into his mouth and flicks his tongue over it. Mickey mewls and grabs at Ian’s hair, hard, and Ian sucks the nub into his mouth, leaving red marks over it. 

Ian catches a glimpse of Mickey’s cock bobbing and sliding against his stomach, wet and angry red at the tip. As much as he wants to see Mickey cum again untouched, the thought of feeling Mickey’s release pulse in his hand outweighs that want. He grasps Mickey’s dick and it throbs in Ian’s hand and he uses the same rhythm of his fucking to jerk Mickey off. Jerk. Push. Thrust. Pull. The room is filled with the scent of sex and the sounds of skin slapping against each other and moans and whines that Ian isn't sure which is whose. All he can feel is Mickey. All he can see is Mickey. All he can hear is Mickey. He feels Mickey’s body tense under him and he knows he’s close. He licks into Mickey’s mouth one more time, biting his bottom lip and jerks his dick harder and faster. Mickey cums, a low deep rumble in his chest and Ian feels his cock ripple and explode all over his fist. Ian doesn’t see it, but he feels it. He feels it in Mickey’s cock, and in Mickey’s mouth as he whines through his release. 

Ian presses both hands to the sides of Mickey’s head and starts fucking him faster. Hips just pushing in, in, in and a shiver runs down Ian’s sweat coated spine and he’s suddenly cumming, just like before, it hits him like a ton of bricks and he pushes as deep as he can inside Mickey, wishing for the first time ever with someone, that there was no latex between them and he was marking Mickey inside his ass. 

“Fuck, I’m cumming. I’m cumming. Christ.” 

Mickey squeezes his ankles around the back of Ian’s neck as Ian cums; Mickey’s name chanting on Ian’s lips. Unable to hold himself up, Ian lowers himself onto Mickey’s body, feeling some of Mickey’s release on his stomach as their bodies connect. 

They catch their breath and Ian can feel Mickey’s fingers in his hair at the back of his head; just holding it. Centering them, keeping them close. Ian closes his eyes and breathes Mickey’s scent deep into his lungs. This feels right. Almost perfect. Something he’s never felt with anyone. And he doesn’t want to let this go. He will fight for this. He will do anything to keep this feeling right here.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~  
  
 ** _I didn't have it in myself to go with grace  
And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves   
You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same   
Cursing my name, wishing I stayed   
You turned into your worst fears   
And you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain_**  
  
Mickey’s eyes blink open; heavy and crusted with sleep. He blinks; a soft sunlight coming in through his open blinds and squints one eye at the clock on his side table. 

8:27. 

He rolls to find the other side of the bed empty and his chest drops down into his stomach. Ian left. He didn’t stay. But Mickey is sure he woke up at some point in the middle of the night to feeling of Ian’s arms around him and nose presses into his shoulder. Mickey felt warm and safe and he drifted back into sleep peacefully. 

But then he hears it. The clatter of pans coming from the kitchen and the smell of coffee wafting through the air. And he smiles. 

Ian stayed. 

He pulls some boxers on and shuffles barefoot into the kitchen to find Ian dressed in his jeans and t-shirt from the night before, flipping eggs in a pan. It feels normal. But then the panic sets in. No one has ever spent the night. No one other than Mickey has ever used his kitchen. 

“The fuck you doing?” 

Ian smiles when he sees him. “Making eggs. I’m starving.” 

“There’s a fucking bagel shop two blocks that way. This ain’t a diner.” Mickey pours himself a cup of coffee and doesn’t turn to look at Ian as he sips it. 

“Grouchy in the morning, huh?” 

“No, just don’t like you all up in my shit.” 

Mickey hears Ian stop cooking and can feel the heat of Ian’s eyes on him. 

“Seriously?” 

Mickey sighs and finally turns to look at Ian. He looks...defeated. Sad. But he warned him. Mickey told him. This isn't news. 

“Told you what this was. Told you what it had to be.” 

“But you let me spend the night. I held you-” 

“We both passed out after fucking. What happens when I’m sleeping has nothing to do when I’m awake. And I’m awake now, and we fucked so now you can go.” Mickey swallows the lies down with his coffee. 

He pretends to not notice the way Ian’s eyes glisten with emotion. He pretends that his own heart aches from the way Ian is looking at him. He pretends he wants Ian to go. He pretends that this is what he wants. Just a simple fuck. Because it has to be. He has to do this before it gets any deeper. Before he really hurts Ian. 

But it looks like it’s a little too late. 

Ian stalks into Mickey’s bedroom and reappears not a minute later, sneakers on unlaced and shoving his wallet phone into his back pocket. 

He’s two steps to the door before he turns back around to face Mickey. 

“Just admit it.” 

Mickey raises an eyebrow at him. “What?” 

“Admit that it felt different. That...last night...wasn't just...That you felt that.” 

“We fucked.” 

“It was more than that and you know it!” Ian yells. Mickey doesn’t back down. He sets his cup of coffee down a little too roughly on the counter. 

“What world do you live in? You think we’re boyfriend/girlfriend here? You’re just a warm mouth to me.” 

Ian’s mouth falls open at Mickey’s words and there’s the glisten of wetness in his green eyes again. Mickey’s chest aches but he keeps his jaw clenched so he doesn’t say anything else. He knew that would hurt Ian, no matter how much of a liar he is. It’s the only way. The only way to keep Ian away from him. He’d already stuck his hand in the fire and got burned. He doesn’t want Ian to die from the flames. He will get over it. He will find someone else; Christ look at him. He’s a walking wet dream. He gives it until next week until he’s got someone chasing him. 

Ian’s eyes narrow. “You’re a fucking coward.” 

“Watch yourself.” 

“Pfft. You think I’m scared of you. I’m not. So, go ahead, punch me in the face. Break my nose. I don’t care, but you’re a fucking liar and a coward. Too chicken shit to admit that there’s something here. Why? Because your dad was an asshole and he knocked you around a little? How about the fact that I’m bi-polar, huh? Thanks to Mommy Dearest I’ve got this fucking disease in my head. I’ve fucked guys for money. I’ve woken up after days of not knowing what happened in meth dens. I’ve tried to kill myself!” Ian is screaming and Mickey is letting Ian’s words sink into his skin. But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t react. 

“But I’m here. I’m getting my life back. And I know when I feel something for someone. Because trust me, life is too fucking short to let good things go. And this is good, Mickey. No matter what you think.” 

“You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about. You don’t know shit about my dad. And you don’t know shit about me. Now get the fuck out before I knock your fucking teeth down your throat.” 

Ian just shakes his head and swallows hard as he looks up at the ceiling. “You’re a fucking pussy.” 

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” Mickey screams, slamming his fist down onto the counter. Ian jumps and for a mere second looks scared. Good. 

Ian bites his lower lip and mutters a few curses and choice words about Mickey before slamming the door so hard, it shakes the apartment. 

Mickey blames the fact that he’s shaking himself on that.


	6. This is me trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey goes to great lengths to talk to Ian. 
> 
> Mickey confesses about his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is entirely from Mickey's POV.
> 
> *Warnings* There is a non graphic description of physical and sexual abuse in this chapter. Not descriptive at all; just basics but if this is a trigger, I apologize. But it explains a lot about Mickey and why he is the way he is. 
> 
> Also mentions of a depressive bi-polar state. 
> 
> Thank you EVERYONE for the love and comments. This chapter is heavy, but there is light at the end of the tunnel. 
> 
> I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH.

  
  
  
**_You drew stars around my scars  
But now I'm bleedin'_**  
  
“What the fuck did you do?” 

Mickey lights his 5th cigarette in the past half hour and squeezes his eyes shut as his sister screams in his ear. 

“Exactly what I told you I would do.” 

“I can't fucking believe you!” Mandy shrieks. “Ian is a great guy. He would have been amazing for you. And what? You sleep with him, scream at him and kick him out? I mean seriously, Mick-” 

“Yeah, he’s a great guy. And I’m not. Why the fuck would you even think for a second a guy like that would wanna stay with someone like me? When the novelty wears off, then what? He’d bolt. When he realizes I got nothing to give him? That he’d have nothing but a shitty ass apartment and a guy with anger issues? I ended it before he could end it. I was protecting myself.” 

“Oh, Mick.” 

“He’ll be fine. He will be on to the next in no time.” 

“He doesn’t want a next one. He wants you.” 

Mickey huffs out a laugh. “He can find better ass than mine.” 

“Mickey, come the fuck on. This has nothing to do with the sex. He felt something with you and you can act all tough to him and everyone else but it's me, Mick. Your sister. I know when you like someone. And if this is about Chris-” 

“Shut your fucking mouth. Right now. Don’t fucking talk about that shit with me.” 

“Mickey, please. He’s a mess. And I know you are too. Just talk to me.” 

Mickey listens to the pleading tone in his sister's voice and rubs the heel of his hand into his eyes until they spot over. He can't do this. This is why he should have just stayed the fuck away from Gallagher. Because there are things about his past...things he can't talk about. Think about. Reasons as to why he can’t get close to someone. Mandy is the only one who knows. May be the only person on this planet who knows and has seen everything. But when he thinks about it... 

“Dad fucked me up, Mands. Real fucking bad.” 

“I know.” Mandy whispers. “But he’s gone now. He can't hurt us anymore. And he can't hurt anyone you care about anymore.” 

Mickey feels the heavy weight in his chest and has to bite his bottom lip until he tastes blood to keep the sob in his throat. “I know.” 

“Then if you know, why are you doing this?” 

“Because I'm fucked up.” 

“So is Ian.” Mandy pauses. “Did he tell you?” 

Mickey swallows. “He may have screamed at me about it as I was kicking his ass out.” 

Mandy stifles a laugh. “He can be a bit dramatic.” 

“You think?” 

“Oh, fuck you. So, can you. He told what you said. He also told me you two sat on a roof for 2 hours holding hands.” 

“Oh, fuck off. It wasn’t like that.” 

“No? Then tell me, Mick. What was it like?” 

Mickey rips at the label on his beer bottle and thinks about that night. The way he could smell Ian when the wind picked up just right. How he kept nuzzling his nose into Mickey’s shoulder when the breeze got a little too cold. The way he smiled whenever Mickey touched him. How warm his hands were on his skin. How he made Mickey feel alive for the first time in years. How Mickey felt like he had been standing still since he was 17 years old and now...the world was spinning so fast it was making him dizzy. 

“It was...good. He’s...good.” 

“I don’t mean the sex, Mick.” 

“Bitch, I ain’t talking about that.” Mickey pauses. “I felt something, okay? You happy now?” 

“Felt?” 

Mickey groans. He really fucking hates her sometimes. “Feel.” 

Mandy lets out a relieved sigh. “Then call him. Please? He’s upset, Mick. I’ve heard him talk about guys before. Boyfriends. But you...I don’t know what you did to him, but he’s all over the fucking place. To be honest I’m a bit worried.” 

“When’s the last time you talked to him?” 

“3 days ago. But now when I call it goes to voicemail and he’s not answering my texts.” 

Mickey worries at his lip. “Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he found someone else.” 

“Come on, Mick.” 

“Fine. I’ll call him.” 

“Good. Call me and let me know how it goes?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Love you assface.” 

“You too, slut.” 

Mickey waits until the ‘call ended’ screen finishes flashing and he stares at his home screen; a picture of him and Mandy giving their middle fingers to the camera when they were younger. Mickey looks dirty in the picture; it was before he started caring about how he looked or smelled. Before he met... 

No. 

Mickey sighs and thinks about grabbing the Bluetooth contraption Lip helped him with but decides against it quickly. No. He needs to do this right. Even if he and Ian don’t end up being anything to each other, he at least owes Ian an explanation. The truth. To tell him something only one other person on the planet knows besides Mandy. Because the other people involved are dead now. 

Mickey lets out a shuddering breath and hits Ian’s name on his contact list and shakily brings the phone up to his ear. 

_“You’ve reached Ian. Leave a message.”_

“Uh, hey, Gallagher. Its Mickey. Listen man, we should talk. You’re probably super pissed and you have every right to be, but like let me explain, okay? I feel like a tool putting myself out here like this, but...Call me back okay? Even if it's to tell me to fuck off. K? Yeah. Bye.” 

Mickey grips his phone in his hand, white knuckling it against his chest trying to stop his hands from shaking.  
  
*~~*~*~*~  
  
 ** _I knew I'd curse you for the longest time  
Chasin' shadows in the grocery line_**  
  
 _“You’ve reached Ian. Leave a message.”_

_“This voicemail box is full.”_  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
 ** _I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs  
The smell of smoke would hang around this long_**  
  
It's been 11 days. 11 days. 4 voicemails. 4, until Mickey couldn’t leave messages anymore. Ian never called back. Mickey even texted him, but it was never read. It’s the only thing Mickey likes about I-Phones. Mickey tried the Bluetooth too but Ian’s wasn’t connected. 

Mickey went to work; dispatching calls to Ian’s unit, but never heard Ian’s voice. Only the chicks. Mandy hadn't heard from him either and to be honest, Mickey wasn’t starting to go fucking insane. He doesn’t know if Ian was just purposely being a dick; in which yeah, Mickey deserved it; or if something was actually wrong. Mickey spent his nights trying to distract himself with video games and an unhealthy amount of Jack Daniels. He kept looking at the texts he sent to Ian. Taunting him on unread. 

So, on the 11th day, and his day off, Mickey decided if Ian wasn’t going to come to him, Mickey would go to him. 

Mickey walked around the station, eyeing the numbers on each rig until he found it. It was early; 7AM; way earlier than Mickey had been up in ages. Mickey works the 9 to 5 gig most days, picking up a couple of overtime shifts every now and then from 5pm to 10pm. But he knew Ian started early; working a 7AM to 3PM shifts most days. When he sees 327 on the side of the rig right outside the roll up door, he has to wipe his sweaty hands on his jeans and remind himself to slow down and be cool as he approached it. 

He sees a dark-haired woman, maybe 40, putting supply bags in the back and he clears his throat. 

“Ay, uh, is Ian here?” 

She turns, eyes slowly searching his face and then glancing, even slower, up and down his body. 

“He’s out sick.” 

“Oh,” Mickey rubs the back of his head. “Um, he okay?” 

“You’re Mickey, aren't you?” 

Mickey’s eyebrow raises. “He tell everyone about me, or some shit?” 

“Or some shit.” The woman approaches. “Why you looking for him?” 

“What, you his Mommy or something? I just need to talk to him.” 

The woman eyes him, even more sternly now. “He won’t be back for a while. Looks like you’ll be waiting.” She turns and closes the doors to the back of the rig. 

“Ay, come on. Just...tell me if he’s okay.” 

She sighs heavily, pushing her forehead against the door. “Christ, Gallagher. Even when you aren't here, you’re annoying my ass.” She whispers before turning to Mickey. “How well do you know him?” 

“Well enough.” 

“No, I don’t mean rubbing your dicks together. I mean, do you know?” 

Then Mickey gets it. Fuck. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Then you know how he is.” 

“The fuck does that mean?” 

“It means, Ian won't be back for a while.” 

The thing is, Mickey may have spent hours and hours a few nights ago looking up every fucking website he could find about Bi-Polar. He may have even joined a fucking chat group online for ‘friends and family’ of people with the disease. He didn’t participate. He just read. He read about the mood swings. The mania. The shit people did when they were manic. He remembered Ian’s words about sleeping with guys and waking up somewhere after doing drugs. 

And all it did was make Mickey feel like even more of a piece of shit. And now he knows he is. Ian was sick. He was manic. Or fuck depressed. He doesn’t know. And he doesn't know if it's his fault. 

“I didn’t mean to...I wasn’t...I-” 

“Hey.” The woman holds her hands up. “I try really hard not to get in the middle of Ian’s romantic adventures. But all I can tell you is he was really into you. And the day after you two hung out or did whatever it was you two did, he was mad. I’ve never seen him so angry. But he was okay. Took him 2 days but he was back to normal. And then...he wasn’t.” 

“Do you know where he lives?” 

“If you think I’m just gonna give you Ian’s address, you’re dumber than you look, kid.” 

Mickey rolls his eyes. She was right, it pissed him off, but she was right. But he knew someone who would know. Someone who might tell him. But it would mean answering a lot more fucking questions that his broad was asking. 

“Fine. But if you talk to him...or something, just tell him I was here, okay? Just tell him...” Mickey licks his lips. “Tell him I came for him, okay?” 

The woman nods. “This happens sometimes, you know. It's just a part of who he is. Doesn’t make him broken or anything. He just needs some time to get himself back.” 

“Yeah. I get it. I just...” 

“You care about him.” 

Mickey gives her a short nod. 

“Maybe you should have told him that a week ago.” 

Mickey narrows his eyes, ready to spew curses and sarcastic remarks at her, but then recoils. Because... 

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”  
  
~*~*~*~*~*  
  
 ** _When you are young, they assume you know nothing_**  
  
It's almost 9 by the time he gets to the garage. The L was packed with people going to work and Mickey never bothered to get himself a car, something he’s starting to regret as he gets older. He has the money for one, just doesn’t see the point. But he’d do anything for one today. 

“You know, I’m starting to think you may be stalking me, Milkovich.” 

Mickey rolls his eyes at Lip and steps further into the garage. “I... need to talk to you.” 

Lip tilts his head, waiting for him to continue. 

“I need to know where Ian lives.” 

Lip scoffs and then laughs. “Yeah, why’s that?” 

“Gonna make me spell it out for you? Thought you were a genius or some shit?” 

Lip’s smile slowly fades. “You fucking my brother?” 

“Ian ain’t really a ‘take it up the ass’ kinda guy.” Mickey shrugs. 

Lip’s eyes go a little wide and then he nods, twice, before stepping around the bike he’s working on. 

“Ian isn't taking visitors right now.” 

“Listen, spare me the whole mysterious bullshit. I know he’s bi-polar, I know he’s sick right now, I can put two and two together no matter how dumb all you fucks think I am, okay? I just need to talk to him.” 

Lip snickers. “Yeah, see? That right there? Shows me you don’t know fucking jack shit, Mickey. Because if you knew, if you really knew, you’d know you can't talk to Ian right now. Because Ian isn't talking. He isn't moving. He hasn’t left the damn bed in 4 days.” 

Mickey feels his chest heave with heaviness. This is his fault. He did this to him. 

“I wanna help him.” Mickey almost whispers. He sounds so desperate. Here he is, standing in front of Lip Gallagher, a kid he used to beat the shit out in school, and on the streets. A kid he never would have thought would become the only person in the world who could help him. Mickey never wanted someone like Lip to see him like this. But Mickey is desperate, he knows it. 

“Mickey, its sweet and all. Really, but you think you’re the first guy who thought he could handle Ian when shit like this goes down? You’re not. You’re just another dude, in a long line of dudes, who said they understood, said they cared, and then took one look at Ian like this and bolted out the fucking door. And over my fucking dead body am I gonna let Ian go through that again. So, let's leave it at this. Leave him alone. Don't do this to him.” 

“You think I scare easy? Do you know who I am? Who my father was? You think seeing Ian fucking lying in bed, not moving, not talking, is gonna make me stop caring? That’s a walk in the fucking park compared to what the fuck me and Mandy went through in our lives, man. She watched my father beat the shit out of me, daily. She heard the crack of my ribs when he kicked me so hard, I couldn’t move off the floor for 2 days. And when I was too weak to wail on, who do you think he went to next? But he didn’t beat Mandy, no, he did something different to her to take his frustrations out. You catch my drift? So, nothing scares me, Phillip. I could give two shits less if he doesn’t get out of bed for a fucking year, I just need to see him, okay? I need to be there. I need to take care of him. Let me take care of him.” 

Mickey watches as his words wash over Lip, and the different emotions they invoke out of him. Lip looks conflicted but he finally brings his hands up to his face and screams into his palms. “Look.” Lip’s arms fall down to his sides. “I don’t like you. You aren't good enough for my brother.” 

“You ain’t lyin.” 

Lip smirks. “But you’re right. Maybe you are the only one of his gentleman callers who can handle this shit.” 

“I ain’t no gentleman caller. I’m just a guy man. A guy...who fell for your fucking brother.” 

And with that, Lip smiles. “Man, Milkovich. Who would have known you took it up the ass?” 

“You gonna tell me where Ian is, or we gonna make gay jokes all mornin?” 

Lip sighs. “He isn't at his apartment. He’s at the house. On South Wallace. He goes there when he’s like this. Or we kinda make him so he’s not alone.” 

“Kay, thanks.” Mickey is almost out of the garage when he hears Lip call for him. He turns, hands shaking. 

“Don’t let him push you away. He tries, and usually succeeds.” 

“Yeah, he can try all he wants. Ain't happening though.” 

Lip just gives him a small nod and Mickey waits to break out into a run until he’s out of Lip’s sight.  
  
*~*~**~*~*~*  
  
 ** _And maybe I don't quite know what to say  
But I'm here in your doorway_**  
  
Mickey finds the house on South Wallace unlocked. He knows its Southside and all, but the house is quiet and Mickey can tell no one else is home. He climbs the stairs, taking in the cluttered but mostly clean house that he remembers being in once before when his father had sent him here to collect from Frank. He’d met the oldest sister, fuck if he remembers her name, but the only other Gallagher he remembered from his wayward youth was Lip. For the past few weeks, ever since he started talking to Ian, he’s started to get glimpses of memories. Red hair behind the counter at the Kash and Grab. Giggles coming from Mandy’s room. A deep voice as it passed Mickey’s room late at night trying not to wake his passed out drunk father on the couch. 

The thing is Mickey’s blocked out a lot of his teenage years. Pretty much anything from 17 to 19 is just...gone. He could blame it on the head bashing; the last real good one he took at 17 from his father; but he knows it's just the trauma and the defense mechanisms and all that psychobabble bullshit Mandy likes to go on and on about. Because Mickey likes that he doesn’t really remember. But he remembers that day, no matter how much he’s tried to drink it and fuck it away. 

He pushes open every bedroom door upstairs until he finds one with a single bed and a pair of bunkbeds in it. In the single; wrapped up like some kind of depressed burrito with a greasy head of red hair sticking out; was Ian. Mickey breathes in and out a few times and steps quietly into the room. 

“Ian...” 

Ian doesn’t move much, but the blankets stiffen around him once Ian recognizes his voice. 

“Hey man. You doing okay?” 

Ian doesn’t answer so Mickey takes another small step toward the bed. The air in the room is humid and it smells like Ian hasn’t showered in a pretty long time. But Mickey would be lying if he said that just being in the same room as Ian again wasn’t making his heart pound right out of his fucking chest. 

“Lip, uh, told me you were here. I’ve been calling. Wanted to explain why I was such a fucking dick to you. You didn't deserve that, no matter how much your ass stalked me.” Mickey smirks but gets no reaction from the body on the bed. He sighs quietly. “Come on, man. Give me something. Even a ‘fuck you’ I’ll take at this point.” 

“Leave me alone.” 

Its barely a whisper, but it's something. 

“Nah. Kinda missed your ass, if I’m being honest.” 

Nothing. 

“Okay, you don’t gotta talk. But I am. I got some shit to tell you.” Mickey sits gingerly on the edge of the bed, trying really hard not to get too close to Ian. The bed dips and Ian just buries himself deeper into his blankets. Mickey rubs his thumb over his bottom lip and takes a deep breath. 

“You know my dad was a prick. Fuck, everyone knew my dad was a prick. It wasn’t a state secret. But something happened when I was 17 that...fucking changed shit for me. I mean, I was always an asshole, you know? In and out of Juvie, running deals with my dad. Stealing. I wasn’t some great kid. But I wasn’t completely broken. I knew I was gay. No one else did. I got my rocks off in Juvie when I had to and got a few blowjobs in the alleys of gay clubs. But I didn’t actually want anyone...or anything with anyone until I met Chris.” Mickey swallows down what feels like nails in his throat when he says the name. He blows out a long breath. “Chris was...beautiful. Brown hair. Green eyes. Kinda like yours. First time I saw yours in that fucking coffee shop nearly shit myself. Got a thing for green eyes, man. But yeah, Chris. He, uh, he was southside, like us. 2 years older than me. Met outside a club. He was nice. And he didn’t give a shit that I was a fucking piece of shit. He made me laugh and it wasn’t nothing serious, but we hung out you know?” 

Ian doesn’t move. But his breathing tells Mickey he’s awake. So at least he’s listening. It's something. 

“My dad goes on this run, right? I had the whole weekend to myself. So, I invite Chris over. First time the guys ever even been to my house. But it was nice. We fucked, watched movies. Got drunk. It felt good to just be able to be 17 and not have to hustle money and deal drugs on the corner for my dad. But the second morning, Chris and I we are fucking on the couch in the living room and my dad-” Mickey chokes but clears his throat. “My dad came home early. Caught us. And then it was like...a fucking tornado. He beat the fucking shit out of me. It's how I got the scar above my eye. From his fucking gun. He wailed on me for God I don’t even know how long. Then he started on Chris. Didn’t stop until we were both so bloody and broken, we couldn’t move. I kept going in and out, you know? But at one point, I come to and my dad...he’s...fuck...” Mickey presses the heels of his hands into his eyes to stop the onslaught of tears trying to escape. “My dad he’s uh shoving his gun up Chris’s ass. And Chris is screaming. And I just lose it. I jump on my dad’s back and hit him as hard as I can and I’m screaming for Chris to get out. To just run. And he does eventually. Because my dad just goes back to beating on me.” 

Mickey hears a soft sniffle and he isn't sure if its him or Ian at this point. It doesn’t really matter. 

“I laid on the floor for 2 days. Broken ribs. Nose. Eye socket. My dad took off, didn’t see him for almost 2 weeks. Mandy took care of me. Never really asked me what happened but like 2 months later, when, uh...I found out Chris...he...fuck...he killed himself...she kinda made me tell her because I was just...gone man. Violent. Drinking every second of every day. Doing any kind of drug, I could get my hands on. It took me a long fucking time to get myself back. And when my dad got shanked when I was 20...it made it a little better. But if it wasn’t for Mandy. I probably would have ended up dead too. Overdose, alcohol poisoning. Something. But yeah, I got myself a job. An apartment, kinda left my dad and all that shit behind. But...I’m fucked up. It fucked me up what happened with Chris. Swore I’d never let anyone care about me again. Never wanted to care about anyone like that either. Because it's my fucking fault. I knew it was a mistake him being around me, knowing my dad...but I liked him. And I fucking killed him.” 

Mickey goes against his better judgement and gently, so fucking gently, lays his hand on Ian’s blanketed arm. “But then you go ahead and start stalking me and I can't get you outta my fucking head. And now here I am stalking your ass.” Ian doesn’t move but he doesn’t push Mickey’s hand away either. “But I’m here. And I don’t give a shit if your fucking bi-polar. I don’t care if you don’t get out of this bed for weeks. I’m here. And I shouldn’t have said and done what I did. But I’m fucked up. And I’m gonna be mean. And I’m gonna be an asshole. But I’ll always fucking be here. I aint leaving again, okay? So, when you’re ready...to talk or kick my ass, I’ll be here.” 

Ian doesn’t answer, but his body shifts, ever so slightly backwards toward Mickey. Mickey quietly unlaces his boots and puts them next to the bed and lays down next to Ian on his back. He keeps his hands folded on his stomach; careful not to touch Ian, because that isn't what he needs right now unless Ian tells him he wants it; and stares at the ceiling, listening to the even breathing from the other side of the bed. It's not long before he falls asleep.  
  
~*~*~*~*  
  
 ** _Is it enough?  
But there's robbers to the east, clowns to the west   
I'd give you my sunshine, give you my best_**  
  
Mickey wakes abruptly, God knows how long later, to a hand shoving at his shoulder. He blinks awake, hands flailing and ready to fight, to find a mop of Red hair looking down at him. A girl...maybe 18, is looking down at him with a scowl. 

“Who the fuck are you!?” 

“Would you keep your voice down? Ian’s sleeping.” Mickey sits up, rubbing his eyes. He turns to look to find Ian in the same position as before, but from his breathing he can tell Ian is sleeping. 

“I can see that, but it still doesn’t explain who you are.” Little Red crosses her arms and glares at him. 

“I’m a friend of Ian’s.” 

“A friend...of Ian’s?” 

“You hard of hearing? Yeah, I’m a friend of Ian’s.” 

“A boyfriend?” 

Mickey shrugs. “Maybe. No. I don’t know.” 

Little Red looks at him with an odd expression. “And you’re still here?” 

Mickey sighs. “Yeah, I’m still here.” That earns him a smile. 

“I’m Debbie.” 

“Mickey.” 

“Want some coffee?” 

Mickey nods and stands, following Debbie out of the room, giving Ian one last look before he leaves. 

Debbie makes him coffee and offers him a stale donut which he eats happily. He honestly can't remember the last time he ate. 

“How do you know Ian?” 

“Work.” 

“You’re an EMT too?” 

“Dispatcher.” 

“Cute.” Debbie pours a cup of milk and brings it to the table, finally noticing a toddler sized red head sitting there with some kind of electronic tablet looking thing and head phones on. 

“Yours?” Mickey mumbles around a bite of his donut. 

“How could you tell?” 

“Could be Ian’s with the red hair.” 

“You do know he’s gay right?” 

Mickey shrugs. “I’ve seen stranger things.” 

Debbie smiles at him again, pressing a small kiss to her daughter's head. 

“How long he been like this?” Mickey finally asks. 

Debbie sighs gently. “About 5 days. They switched his meds up; he could tell he was going a little manic. He always comes to us when he does. He’s gotten better about knowing the signs now. I went to the clinic with him. It takes a bit for the medications to catch up. Sometimes this lasts just a few days. Sometimes longer. This seems to be a longer one.” Debbie talks about it with ease. Like it's just another part of their lives. She doesn’t sound angry, or disappointed or annoyed. It's just Ian. 

“I didn’t know. Until today. But I came as soon as I figured out where he was.” 

Debbie nods. “It's more than anyone else ever has.” 

And Mickey gets it now. Why Lip was so apprehensive about telling Mickey where Ian was. No one ever stayed. No one ever gave a shit to stay; to stick with him through the hard shit, just not the good shit. And Mickey gets that. He really does. 

“He needs a shower.” Mickey says, putting his coffee mug in the sink. 

Debbie stifles a laugh. “If you can get him in the shower, by all means.” She motions toward the back stairs in the kitchen. Mickey grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it with water and when he turns, he finds Debbie giving him a soft look. 

“What?” 

“You really care about him, don’t you?” 

“It’s just a glass of water.” 

Debbie shakes her head, her eyes glazed as if they are going to spill over any second. “No, It's really not.”  
  
~**~*~*~*~*  
  
 ** _And I just wanted you to know that this is me trying  
(And maybe I don't quite know what to say)_**  
  
Mickey doesn’t get Ian to shower. But he does get him to roll over and drink 2 sips of water and to Mickey it’s a victory. Ian doesn’t turn his face back to the wall, but this time when he lies back down, he just stares at Mickey like he’s going to disappear any second. After about a half of just staring Mickey finally has enough courage to reach his hand out and brush Ian’s hair off his forehead. Ian’s eyes slide closed at his touch and Mickey leans down to press a soft kiss to his head. He lingers; breathing Ian in. When Mickey pulls back, Ian’s hand wraps around his forearm; fingertips digging into his skin. 

“Shhh. I’m not leaving. I told you, I ain’t leaving. Just rest. I’ll be right here.” 

Ian settles back into his cocoon of blankets, never letting go of Mickey’s arm. Mickey, somehow, one handed, digs into the pocket of his jeans to get his phone to shoot off a text to his supervisor telling him he’s going to need to take a few personal days. Mickey’s got a fuck ton of them; he never has a reason to take off; but he does now. He sets his phone on the bedside table, next to all of Ian’s prescriptions and settles down onto the pillows. He watches Ian; how he keeps scrunching up his face like his mind is showing him things he doesn’t want to see. And Mickey’s read about it; the hallucinations, the bad thoughts; he can't imagine the shit going on in Ian’s brain right now. It takes a while, but Mickey finally feels tired; a long day of emotions weighing him down; and his eyes begin to fall heavy from the warmth of Ian next to him, reminding him of that night they spent together, wrapped up after sex. 

He’s almost asleep, when he hears it. Its soft, almost inaudible, but he hears it. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

Mickey feels the immediate pain course through his chest and he has to squeeze his eyes closed harder to keep himself from crying. 

It doesn’t work.


	7. Even when I lose, I'm winning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian slowly gets back to himself. 
> 
> And Ian and Mickey try and figure out what it all means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a much fluffier chapter than the last. I am slowly winding this story down maybe just 2 more chapters after this one and its going be much less angst and more of the fluffy happy shit like the previous chapters.
> 
> Thank you ALL SO MUCH for reading and commenting. I cant get to every comment, life and all, but I read every single one and every single one makes me smile. I am so glad you all love this fic, as it has been such a joy writing it. 
> 
> <3 you all!

  
  
  
  
**_My head's under water  
But I'm breathing fine   
You're crazy and I'm out of my mind_**  
  
Ian feels warm. So warm. And comfortable. Before he even opens his eyes, he can feel the safety wrapped around him. His eyes flutter open and his senses, all of them, get invaded with the man lying next to him. Mickey is facing him; arms curled up under his head on the pillow, long black lashes lying so softly over pale skin. He looks soft and beautiful and Ian watches him for minutes; just minutes that run into the next; piecing together fragments of memories over the past few days. Glasses of water. Half-eaten bowls of soup. The swallowing of pills. And the feeling of relief; a light in the darkness; of having Mickey next to him. 

He remembers Mickey reading to him. Yeah, it may have been from Guns and Amo, but it was the thought that counts. He remembers soft touches and even softer confessions. Ian can smell Mickey; Irish Spring which he figures is from the Gallagher communal shower and then Ian realizes Mickey is wearing one of his shirts. Its green and worn around the neckline and there’s a few holes scattered all over it. It's too big on him; longer than anything over Mickey’s smaller frame, but there’s just something about the fact that Mickey is wearing his clothes. It makes it feel so domestic; so intimate in a way that Ian can't help but smile. Smile for the first time in over a week. His haziness is gone; his head clear and yeah, he’s still tired, but he can feel things around him. He can feel something. And it's all Mickey. 

It takes Ian a few minutes but he reaches out to run his fingertip, gently and so slowly, over the scar above Mickey’s eyebrow; remembering the story Mickey had confessed. Ian’s chest tightens at the memory; knowing how hard it must have been for Mickey to tell him that. Anything that Ian thought he felt for Mickey before; the tiny crush and sexual attraction he had; was now 100 times more intense because he knows things about Mickey now. Things that he may be one of the only people in the world that know. Ian feels a surge to protect and hold Mickey; to show him love and compassion and all the things he knows Mickey’s never had; that he’s afraid to have. 

Mickey’s eyes flicker at Ian’s touch and he wakes up slowly; licking his bottom lip and focusing his blue eyes on Ian’s face. Ian keeps his hand on Mickey’s forehead as he slowly awakens and Mickey gives him a small smile. 

“Hey.” Mickey’s voice is rough with sleep. All Ian wants to do is kiss him. Morning breath be damned. And he knows he stinks; he hasn’t showered in almost a week or brushed his teeth, but he doesn’t care. All he wants to do is press his lips to Mickey’s. But instead he settles on moving a little closer to him; Ian sliding his greasy head along the pillow next to Mickey. 

“Hey.” 

Mickey swallows and brings his hand up from around the pillow and gently wraps his fingers around Ian’s wrist; bringing Ian’s hand to his chest. He keeps their fingers intertwined and all Ian can do it stare at the fading ink on Mickey’s knuckles. Intimidating words forever etched on skin. But Ian knows a different Mickey. Ian knows Mickey in a way he’s sure no one else does. It ignites a fire inside him and he suddenly realizes how hard he is in his boxers. He’s used to waking up with a hard on; even when he’s in one of his depressive states. But this isn't morning wood. This is an aching reaction to being this close to Mickey. Someone Ian knows he’s falling in love with. And he knows its soon; Ian knows it's crazy to even think that; he barely knows Mickey; but he also feels like he knows Mickey better than most of the guys he’s dated. Mickey’s told him more personal things about him in the past few days than any other guy did, even being with them for a year. 

“You stayed.” Ian whispers. He watches a small smirk form on Mickey’s lips. 

“Course I did. Told you I would.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you needed me.” 

Ian feels his hands start to shake and Mickey just squeezes the hand he’s holding tighter. “Shhh.” Mickey brings Ian’s hand up to his lips and places soft kisses to it. “Relax.” 

“No one’s ever stayed. They always leave when they see me like this.” Ian’s voice hiccups with emotion and he has to close his eyes because looking at Mickey is too much right now. 

“Yeah, well I don’t scare easy. And this is nothing Ian. I got to lay in bed with you for 3 days. I got to eat Mac and Cheese and read magazines and watch daytime TV. This was awesome.” 

“You’ve been here 3 days?” Ian’s eyes open slowly and Mickey is just looking at him with this look that takes Ian’s breath away. Mickey nods. 

“You meet my family?” 

“Yeah, little Red’s not too bad. Mom'ed me a lot which was fine. She fed me so no complaints there. Lip was around a few times giving me the fucking looks like he was still sure I was gonna high tail it outta here at any second. And I met uh...Carl? Yeah, Carl too. That kid’s fucking nuts.” 

Ian laughs. “Fuck, you should have seen him when he was younger. He’s calmed down a lot.” 

“He kept asking me if I ever killed anyone. That us Milkovich’s have a reputation. Fucking nuts, man.” 

Ian continues laughing and it feels so good. It feels so good to just feel something again. “What about work?” 

Mickey shrugs. “Fuck, I got so much time saved up. I could take a fucking month off if I wanted to. Maybe I will. Kinda got used to this.” Mickey smiles and fuck Ian can't help it. He leans in and presses a chaste kiss to Mickey’s lips. Mickey’s breath catches, and he doesn’t move for the first few seconds, but then ever so slowly eases into the kiss and presses back gently. He presses his forehead to Ian’s when the kiss ends, and breathes heavily through his nose. “Ian.” 

“Sorry. I couldn’t help it.” 

“There’s gonna be plenty of time for that shit. I mean it. I’m here. I'm in this. But you gotta eat. You gotta take a shower cause holy fuck man, you reek.” Ian playfully slaps Mickey’s chest. Mickey chuckles and wraps his hand around Ian’s face. “Let’s get you back on track and then you kiss me all you fucking want, okay?” 

Ian nods and nuzzles his nose into Mickey’s cheek. Fuck he feels good. He feels like himself again. He knows it's still gonna be a few days to get his strength back and maybe even longer before he can go back to work even, but he doesn’t feel that heavy weight of hopelessness anymore and he knows a lot of that has to do with Mickey. That Mickey didn’t leave. That Mickey came to find him and stayed. And none of this scared him away. If anything, it made Mickey closer to him. 

Ian’s chest feels heavy with emotion. His eyes are on the brink of overflowing for this man in front of him; holding him and looking at him with admiration and what only Ian can think is love. But he knows it's too soon for all that. It may never happen. This thing with Mickey might end up being just a casual thing in the end. But he knows he is forever changed by what Mickey has done for him. As simple as it may be to someone else; just staying with him and making sure he’s okay; it's something a friend would do; but it’s the most Ian has ever gotten from someone who wasn’t his family. And even then, it's never been like this. 

“Come on.” Mickey whispers. “Go shower and I’ll make you some eggs and bacon, okay?” 

Ian nods, but doesn’t move. He can't pull himself away from the warmth and safety he feels being this close to Mickey. 

“I know. But I told ya, I ain’t leavin. You don’t gotta worry. So, just shower okay? I’ll even change these rank sheets so you can lie down again after you eat. I know it's still gonna be a few days till you get your strength back.” 

“My family tell you that?” 

Suddenly Mickey looks embarrassed. “Nah, read some shit on the internet.” 

“You...read some shit on the internet.” Ian repeats, stunned. 

“Yeah. It's no big deal. Come on.” Mickey shifts finally away from Ian and throws the blankets off his legs. He stands stretching and Ian just watches as his shirt, well Ian’s shirt, rides up a bit and he can see the pale patch of skin on Mickey’s lower back. Ian remembers the way that patch of skin tastes. He trembles at the thought. And he trembles at the knowledge that Mickey looked up stuff about bi-polar. That he took the time to research and find shit out. For him. 

No one has ever cared. 

And Ian doubts no one will ever care again as much as Mickey does. 

“It's a big deal to me.” Ian confesses. 

Mickey turns and raises an eyebrow at him. “Well, it’s a big deal to me that you don’t smell like a dead body anymore, so get the fuck up Gallagher and shower.” 

Ian smiles and finally moves so he is sitting at the edge of the bed. He takes a few deep breathes and Mickey moves to stand in front of him, rubbing the back of his head. Ian leans his head against Mickey’s stomach and the shirt is soft and Mickey smells like soap and sleep and he’s so warm Ian could just climb into him. Ian feels a kiss on the top of his head. 

“Shower. Then eggs. Then I’ll let you cuddle my ass some more.” 

Ian smiles against Mickey’s stomach.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
 ** _The world is beating you down, I'm around through every mood_**  
  
Ian comes downstairs almost a half hour later; after scrubbing himself almost raw to get the stench of depression off him. He pulled on a pair of clean boxers and an old Sox t-shirt and pads barefoot down the stairs to find Mickey sitting at the table; 2 plates set with silverware, coffee and juice; for the both of them. Ian can't help but smile; he’s been doing it since he woke up and a lot of it in the shower just thinking about Mickey here, in his childhood home. It feels right and he can't pinpoint why. 

“Hey, look at that. You’re like a whole shade paler.” 

“Fuck off. You’re pale too, asshole.” 

“Least I don’t have to sleep in a coffin till the sun goes down.” 

Ian snorts and sits at the table, picking up the fork almost immediately. He is hungry, and he knows it’s a good sign. Mickey’s already laid his pills out on the napkin next to his plate and Ian wonders for a second how Mickey knows what dosage and pills he needs in the morning, but he knows it's because Mickey did his research. And he read the pill bottles and he probably asked his siblings questions. It makes his heart beat faster in his chest and he finds himself just watching Mickey as he chews slowly on his breakfast. That Mickey made. For him. 

And Ian knows. He knows he’s falling for Mickey Milkovich. 

It’s a 12-D-1. An extreme fall. 

And there’s nothing he can do about it. 

“Aw, look at this. How fucking cute is this?” Lip’s voice booms into the kitchen, waking Ian from his intense stare on Mickey. “What you live here now?” Lip asks Mickey, reaching onto Ian’s plate for a piece of bacon and laying a steady and affectionate hand on Ian’s shoulder. Ian knows that touch. It’s the ‘you doing okay? I was worried about you. I’m glad you’re out of bed’ touch. It’s the Lip touch. Ian is used to it now. He welcomes it, when before he didn’t. It's been a long time since that touch used to piss him off that Ian would shrug it off and let the anger to envelop him. But he can't be angry right now. Not when Mickey just flips Lip off with one finger as he stabs his eggs with the fork in the other hand. 

Ian doesn’t feel anything but happiness in this moment. 

“Just wanted to stop in before work. You feeling okay?” Lip asks Ian, settling into the chair across from Mickey at the table and sideways from Ian. Ian nods, chewing. 

“Yeah, tired still but not foggy anymore.” 

Lip nods, side eyeing Mickey. “Good.” He says giving Mickey an intense stare. Mickey raises his eyes once toward Lip, giving him a 10 second stare, then goes back to his food. It’s a simple look, but Ian knows it says so much between him and Lip. An understanding. A thank you. And a you’re welcome. 

Debbie is the next to make it downstairs with Frannie in tow. Then Liam and the kitchen becomes chaotic with the morning rituals. Soon the table is full of people and there's lunches being made and more breakfast being eaten and there are no more questions about how Ian is feeling or even why Mickey is still here. He gets a few soft touches from his siblings and Frannie hugs him hard around his neck, like she missed him, and it fills Ian with warmth. Mickey talks low with Frannie about something on her game tablet and Ian thinks about how much time Mickey has spent with his family these last few days. Mickey seems so comfortable in Ian’s house; like he just belongs there. And Ian would be lying if he said he didn’t love it. That it felt right; righter than anything he’s ever felt in his life. 

When Carl barges in the back door, carrying a tire iron which looks like blood on the end of it, the entire kitchen goes quiet as he stands there, eyes wide. 

“I’m not here.” 

Ian opens his mouth to ask about 100 questions, but Mickey springs into action, getting up the table and grabbing the weapon from Carl’s hands. 

“Fucking idiot, I told you to be fucking careful. Can't fucking listen for shit. Come on.” Carl follows Mickey into the living room and the rest of the Gallagher’s stare after them, open mouthed. 

“Some fucking boyfriend you got there.” Lip chimes in. Ian just smiles as he watches as Carl and Mickey angry whisper to each other in the living room. 

“Yeah, he really is.”  
  
*~*~*~*~*~  
  
 ** _You're my downfall, you're my muse  
My worst distraction, my rhythm and blues   
I can't stop singing, it's ringing, in my head for you_**  
  
Ian and Mickey watch a couple of episodes of Forensic Files on the TV after everyone leaves for their days and listens and laughs when Mickey makes the occasional comment on how ‘fucking stupid’ these killers are. Ian doesn’t want to really know why Mickey thinks they're so fucking stupid; there still being so much about Mickey’s past that Ian doesn’t know; but a lot of it, Ian thinks, is just all talk. Because Mickey has his hand wrapped around Ian’s and every once in a while, places a soft kiss to Ian’s shoulder. It's all so tender, so sweet and it makes Ian feel vulnerable in the best way. 

When Ian’s eyes grow tired and they begin to get heavy and slide shut every couple of seconds, Mickey rearranges him so he’s lying almost completely on the couch, his head in Mickey’s lap. Mickey just runs his fingers through Ian’s freshly washed hair; scratching sometimes at the back of his neck with bitten fingernails. Ian even gets a few rubs on his back and shoulders and listens to Mickey’s heartbeat and even breathing as he slides in and out of small naps. Every time he wakes up, Mickey is still there, rubbing and scratching. Ian wraps his one arm around Mickey’s waist and puts his hand on the bare skin of Mickey’s back. He flinches at first, but slowly relaxes and Mickey lets out a small sigh from the touch. 

“Thank you.” Ian whispers. 

“Don't need to thank me.” 

“I know, but...” Ian swallows. 

“Just shut up and sleep.” 

“Will you stay?” 

“As long as you want me to.” 

Ian shudders out a long breath and presses his face into Mickey’s stomach. He holds it there, breathing in Mickey’s smell and forcing his body to relax from all the emotions coursing through it. There is so much Ian wants to say; so much on the tip of his tongue that is ready to spew out and never be able to be taken back. So much Ian knows Mickey isn't ready to hear, or honestly that Ian is even ready to say; but it's there, trying to escape. But Ian keeps breathing, and counting the thumps of Mickey’s heart and finally settles on... 

“How about forever?” 

Ian waits for the tense reaction. He waits for the fall out of his question. He waits for the sarcastic remark or the emptiness of the question going unanswered. 

He gets none of it. 

“Yeah.” Mickey whispers. “Okay.”  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
 ** _What's going on in that beautiful mind?  
I'm on your magical mystery ride   
And I'm so dizzy, don't know what hit me, but I'll be alright_**  
  
They aren't out of the woods. Mickey isn't stupid enough to think they are. He isn't even sure what the fuck they are even doing. He just knows he needs to be with Ian, wants to be with Ian, right now and maybe the rest will fall into place. He's been surrounded by more Gallagher’s all week then he ever wanted to be and to be honest they aren't even that bad. They’ve grown accustomed to him being there and none of them even seem to mind. 

Ian gets better every day. Slow steps and routine gradually making their way to the forefront. Mickey finally calls his Supervisor on the 4th day telling her that someone close to him needs help and he was hoping that he could take as much time as he’s allowed so he can make sure his person, yeah, he may have said his ‘person’ is okay. His supervisor, Rita, is more than understanding, telling Mickey he’s never taken a day off in the 2 years he’s been there, worked every holiday and even filled in for other people, so it was fine and to take the whole month if he needed because that’s how much time he actually has accumulated. He agrees and tells her if anything changes, and he can come back sooner, he will let her know. 

Rita ends the call telling Mickey she hopes his person is okay and that ‘their lucky to have him.’ Mickey may have smiled at that that, but no one needs to know. 

It’s been almost a week since that first morning Ian woke up more like himself and all they have done in that week, intimacy wise, is kiss a few times, closed mouthed, and cuddled the shit out of each other. Mickey wakes up every morning with Ian wrapped around him like some Ginger octopus, and Mickey will never admit it, especially to Ian, but he fucking loves it. He loves falling asleep with him, and waking up with him. He loves eating breakfast with him and taking walks to get Ian’s strength back. He loves playing Call of Duty with him and watching old reruns of Parks and Rec and laughing as Ian shovels popcorn into his mouth. 

Mickey won't admit it, but he loves the small things too. How Ian rubs his feet together when he’s trying to fall asleep. That he lets out these small sighs in the middle of the night; happy little sighs. How Ian puts way too much butter on his toast to the point it gets soggy and Mickey teases him about what the fucking point is of even toasting it to begin with. He loves how Ian just flips him off and hip checks him as he walks past. He’s getting to know Ian in such a simple way. And Mickey likes it. He likes it all. 

He even likes the bad moments. When Ian is stuck in his head for a while; and he has to wake himself out of it and he’s suddenly angry and almost violent. When Ian paces and mumbles things under his breath but then slowly comes back to himself with breathing exercises and mantras. Mickey just watches and takes it all in, and Ian still looks so surprised every time it's over that Mickey is still here. Ian thanks him every day and Mickey just tells him to shut up because Mickey’s told him so many times already there is nothing to thank him for. There is literally nowhere else on the earth, Mickey wants to be. He wants to be where Ian is. He wanted it before; before Mickey even knew what, this feeling was he had inside him for Ian; and he wants it now, as he slowly gets to know Ian in the deepest of ways and at his worst. 

And Mickey knows, if this is some of the worst, he can't fucking wait for the best. 

But they haven't talked about it. Yeah, Ian asked him to stay ‘forever’, whatever the fuck that meant. But they haven't really talked about them and what all of this even means. Mickey knows it's something, he just isn't quite sure what. So, because Mickey can't seem to leave anything good alone, he pokes one night about 3 weeks into his stay at Casa De Gallagher. 

“You know I can go back to my apartment, like whenever.” 

Ian turns his head to fast to look at him, Mickey himself gets dizzy. 

“You wanna go home?” 

“I didn’t say that. I’m just saying. Like are you gonna keep staying here? I mean we are both paying rent on places we ain’t even living at. I haven't even been there. Been stealing all your clothes.” 

“I like you wearing my clothes.” Ian smirks. 

“Yeah, I bet you do.” 

Ian sighs and rubs his hand over his face. “I... don't really need to be here anymore. I’m okay and I can probably go back to work in like a week. But I was afraid to go back to my place because that meant you’d go back to yours and then this would be over.” 

“Ay, no one said this was over.” 

Ian looks at him, eyes green and soft and expressive. “And what is this, exactly.” 

And Mickey shrugs. Because he’s an idiot. 

Hurt flashes inside Ian’s eyes and Mickey quickly regrets all of his life decisions. “Come on, man. I don’t know. I guess I just thought we’d get past this, get you better and then we’d take it from there.” 

“Do you wanna be with me?” 

“I’m with you right now.” 

“Stop avoiding the question. I mean it. What do you want? Do you want me? Do you want us to like see each other? Date? Do you wanna fuck? Not fuck? Be friends? What? Cause I’ve made it pretty clear what I want.” 

“You want a boyfriend.” Mickey states, picking the skin off one of his fingers. Fuck, he can't do this. Can he? He doesn't know how to do this. 

“Yeah, I do.” Ian answers. It's so quick, such a sure answer and Mickey’s head spins he answers so fast. 

“I don’t know how to do that, Ian. I don’t know how to be someone’s boyfriend.” 

Ian is quiet for a while, a little too quiet and Mickey finally looks up at him to find Ian giving him such a warm smile. “Oh, Mick.” He shifts closer to Mickey on the couch and buries his face in Mickey’s neck. His breath tickles and Mickey can't help but close his eyes at the feeling of having Ian this close to him. It does something to Mickey; it breaks down every single wall he has up around himself. “Yes, you do. You’ve been doing it for almost 3 weeks now. You know exactly how to be someone’s boyfriend.” 

And that makes Mickey laugh. Because Ian is right. It is exactly what he’s been doing. Taking care of Ian. Watching TV, sleeping next to him, getting along with his fucking family. Going on walks and grocery shopping with him. Fighting, laughing, bickering, kissing. It's...a relationship. Mickey fell right into it and didn’t even know he had ended up there. 

Extreme fall. 

Mickey never saw it coming. 

“Fuck you, Gallagher. You tricked me.” 

Ian laughs and moves until he’s practically straddling Mickey. He places his large hands on the sides of Mickey’s face and his cheeks flame up from the touch. Mickey can't help but look up into Ian’s eyes; staring down at him like Mickey is something. A look Mickey’s only ever seen once before and it makes Mickey panic; if for only a second; because Mickey knows no one is going to be coming through that door that could hurt them or want to hurt them. Mickey knows he’s safe with Ian, and that Ian is safe with him. 

Ian kisses him; mouth open before it even reaches Mickey’s; and their tongues slide together with ease. Like they’ve been doing this the whole time and it's something so natural, so perfect and comforting like they were meant to be doing this. Mickey wraps his arms around Ian and pulls him flush against him, deepening the kiss with soft strokes of his tongue and nips against Ian’s bottom lip. They pull back after a while, faces flushed and breaths heavy. 

“I wanna be with you.” Ian whispers. 

Mickey swallows down Ian’s saliva in his mouth, mixed with his own and for the first time, ever, he lets himself be free. 

“I wanna be with you too.”


	8. Though we're tethered to the story we must tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey navigate the new waters of their relationship.
> 
> New things are experienced and all of Mickey's walls come down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is only one more chapter left guys. This one is just a lot of fluff and smut and Ian and Mickey learning what it means to be in a relationship with one another. 
> 
> As always comments are LOVE and I love you all <3

  
  
  
**_I surrender who I've been for who you are  
For nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart   
If I had only felt how it feels to be yours_**  
  
Ian was making Mickey buy a trashcan. 

It had been almost a month since he and Ian had gone back to their own apartments and jobs and since they started spending a lot, A LOT, of time together. More nights than not, Ian was at Mickey’s; sitting on his couch eating his snacks, watching shows on HIS Netflix account giving Mickey recommendations for shows he would never watch in a fucking million years. Why the fuck would he want to watch The Crown? 

Ian’s been staying over, taking up most of the bed with his gangly limbs and Ian bought body wash that smells like fucking hibiscus flowers or some gay shit and there is fruit, fucking fruit, in his fridge now. Right next to the beer; oh yeah, there's also new beer in his fridge too, some fucking wheat shit that Ian gets drunk off one of; and Ian’s sneakers are by the front door next to Mickey’s Timberlands and Ian has his own toothbrush, extra soft because apparently he has teeth like a 3 year old, and a special razor because his poor ginger skin is sensitive and now, NOW, they are in the fucking Container Store looking for a fucking garbage can because apparently putting your garbage in plastic shopping bags and throwing by the door so you can throw it in the dumpster the next morning is “savage.” 

Ian is walking along the isle, looking at each garbage can closely, testing how the lid opens, and he’s saying words like ‘capacity’ and ‘dimensions’ and Mickey feels like he’s about to vomit because everything is in size order and color coordinated in this store and there are hives breaking out on his skin. This isn't Mickey. This isn't who he is. And he gets when you become involved with someone, changes are made, compromises are had, but this, this is too fucking far. 

“Well?” 

Ian’s voice breaks Mickey out of his panic attack and he has to pretend, quickly, that he heard every word Ian just said to him. 

“Uh, I like that one.” Mickey points to one of the garbage cans and Ian visibly frowns. 

“This one?” Ian points to a small blue can on the bottom shelf. Mickey nods. “This one right here?” Ian picks it up and stares at Mickey, dumbfounded. “Mickey, this is tiny. It goes in a bathroom, not a kitchen. But come to think of it, you do need one in the bathroom too, so we can get this one-” And there’s that word again. WE. Ian’s been using it for weeks now, we this, and when we do that, and how about we do this...and there are definitely hives breaking out all over his body. 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” 

Mickey’s voice echoes because this store is a living hell and Mickey is stuck right fuck in the middle of it, and Ian’s eyes go wide at Mickey’s outburst. 

“What?” Ian asks with a hint of confusion. 

“Gallagher, you need to slow down. I...” Mickey feels like he cant breathe. And he needs a cigarette, now. So he turns without even finishing his sentence and leaves Ian in the isle holding a fucking garbage can. A BATHROOM garbage can, as Mickey has been told. 

Mickey is lighting his second cigarette by the time Ian makes it outside and Mickey watches as Ian just stares at him from the revolving doors to the entrance. Mickey just stares back, taking the nicotine into his lungs and trying to calm himself down enough to be able to have a conversation with his boyfriend without yelling again. And that’s the other thing. Boyfriend. Ian is his boyfriend. It isn't something they actually talked about, it just happened. Like most things between them. It just happened that Ian ran into him at the coffee shop. And the grocery store and the pharmacy. And the club. And Ian just so happened to fall on Mickey’s dick with his mouth and Mickey just happened to go to Lip about Bluetooth’s and they just happened to fuck and then Ian just happened to get sick and now they are in fucking stores looking at home décor. 

Mickey knows this is what is supposed to happen at 25. He knows he’s supposed to be in a relationship and he knows he’s damn lucky to have the one he has. Because Ian is amazing. He’s hot, and smart, and funny and just the right amount of quirky that Mickey likes without it being annoying. Ian’s hot headed and it turns Mickey on more than fucking anything especially when apparently some guy is checking Mickey out at the fucking 7-Eleven and Ian presses his body up against Mickey’s in a possessive way and yeah, Mickey likes it all and its all great and he knows he’s lucky. 

But they went from 0 to 100 in less than 2 months and Mickey is dizzy and if he’s being honest; something Ian made him promise to always be; he’s terrified. Because he doesn’t know how to do this. He doesn’t know how to pick out garbage cans and get used to Ian’s large body taking up his space and he doesn’t know how to tell Ian anything without hurting his feelings. Because its not that he doesn’t want Ian, or that he doesn’t want this, he’s just...scared. And overwhelmed. And all he wants to do is get pizza, get shitfaced on cheap beer and go home and have his boyfriend fuck him. He thought that was going to be the plan. 

Because the other thing is, the thing that maybe Mickey is also a little on edge about is that he and Ian haven't had sex. Not since that first time. They kiss and there was a mutual hand job given last week but the mostly just cuddle. And Mickey feels like an asshole because Ian is still getting stabilized on his medication change and Mickey is waiting for Ian to make the move and he did this morning before he went to work because the kiss they had at the front door was all tongue and Ian had grabbed Mickey’s ass and fuck Mickey had plans tonight and this was not it. 

“It’s just a garbage can, Mick.” 

Mickey’s eyes slide closed at the shortened name and no one calls him that but Mandy and not since... 

“I know. I know. But I told you, over and over this isn't me. That I don’t know how to do this and you just keep...” Mickey trails off. He’s going to say the wrong thing. He’s going to hurt him. He already is. 

“I’m moving too fast.” 

“No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know, okay? I like being with you, okay. I do. I like waking up with you and having dinner with you. I like knowing you’re going to be there when I get home. I like you. But I’ve been by myself a long time, Ian. A long fucking time. And this isn't about Chris or my dad...this is just who I am. So yeah, it’s a lot. And I get you like to be in charge, you are a gold start top in and out of the bedroom, but it's my apartment and if I wanna throw my garbage in fucking plastic Walmart bags, I will.” 

Mickey watches Ian swallow. “You’re right. I...I practically moved in and never even had a conversation with you about it. I’m sorry.” 

“Nah, man. Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry. I fucking yelled in there and I don’t wanna do that shit with you.” Mickey moves closer to him and puts his hand on his chest. “I thought we were gonna just have some pizza and go to bed...” Mickey trails off, trying not let his voice waiver at the suggestion. 

“Total honesty?” Ian asks, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s waist. Mickey nods. 

“I’m scared to have sex with you.” 

Mickey raises an eye brow at him. “We’ve fucked before, Gallagher. It was mind blowing if I remember correctly.” 

“Exactly. That was the best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life. And what if...what if that’s as good as it gets for us. What if now that there’s feelings and I have a toothbrush in your bathroom, it just becomes like sex.” 

And suddenly Mickey gets it. Before it was unfamiliar. New. Exciting. The chase. A power struggle between the two of them as they navigated through the lust and want and curiosity of it all. But now it is different. And the passion is there; Mickey feels it when Ian kisses him. But there’s something else there now. Affection. Trust. And if Mickey isn't careful...love. 

“Ian...” Mickey reaches up, wrapping his hands around Ian’s face. “I don’t think sex is ever going to be our problem. Like ever. Its all this little shit that’s gonna make us fight and what’s gonna make it hard. But I can guarantee its never going to be the sex.” 

“I just want this to be different. I need this to be different than all the other relationships. And I know I’m taking over and shit but I was so used to being a shell of who I am with all my other boyfriends and I don’t want you to think I want to change you, because I don’t. I lo-like the way you are. I guess I just wanted to make decisions together and I like being in your space. I like being where you are.” 

“Take a breath, Gallagher.” Mickey presses a small kiss to Ian’s lips. “This is already different. Because its us, okay? So, calm your tits and slow down. We will get there. Look how far we’ve already come.” 

“I know. You’re kissing me in public.” Ian smirks down at him and presses his body tighter against Mickey’s. And Mickey feels it. Right down into his cock. 

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m just trying to get into your pants.” 

Ian grins, almost wickedly. “Yeah?” He leans in; his lips close to Mickey’s ear. “You want to go home and have me fuck you? Take you apart with my mouth and cock?” 

And there it is. There is the heat and want and need. It’s a part of them no matter how domestic they become. Because it will always be this way. No matter how much Ian changes about Mickey’s apartment or if they buy a blue garbage can or black, or if Ian gets sick against and spends a month in bed instead of a week or if Mickey freaks the fuck out like he knows he will and yells and throws shit, they will always be this. Drawn to each other. And Mickey doesn’t believe in fate and soulmates and all that meant to be crap. But somehow, he and Ian just fit together in such a natural and impossible way. And maybe the rest of that shit doesn’t matter. Maybe for once in his life Mickey is going to allow himself to be happy. And maybe it wont work out between the two of them, and maybe that will be okay too. Because Mickey can kiss him in public, and he can have something for himself and not feel guilty about it. 

Maybe Ian is his redemption. Because he cant go back and save Chris. But he can move forward and promise to never make the same mistakes again. Never allow someone he cares about to be put in a position where they could be hurt. To never be the reason for that much pain. To care enough about himself to care about someone else. 

“Let's go home.” Mickey whispers before pressing his mouth hotly against his boyfriends.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
 ** _With a whisper we will tame the vicious seas  
Like a feather bringing kingdoms to their knees_**  
  
There is a buzzing between them on the train and Mickey has his knee pressed heatedly against Ian’s and he keeps licking his bottom lip and its driving Ian INSANE. He was trying to do this slowly. He was trying to just spend time with Mickey, to ease him into the whole dating thing. He knows its new territory for Mickey; he knows the demons of his past still haunt him. So, Ian thought the right thing to do was start from scratch and wait to have sex. 

And he was doing so well. Keeping all the sexual stuff to heavy petting and intense make out sessions. The mutual hand job between them last week one morning lasted all of about 3 minutes before they both exploded all over each other; weeks of pent of sexual frustration literally unable to be contained anymore. But Mickey was right. Ian didn’t have anything to worry about. He knew this was the easy part. Their bodies fit together so perfectly; everything from their mouths to their legs as they intertwine together in bed. 

“Stop fidgeting.” Mickey grumbles, slapping his hand over Ian’s on his lap. 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s gonna be fine.” 

“I’m not worried about that. I’m just fucking horny I’m gonna cum the second you touch me.” 

Their eyes meet and Mickey presses the heel of his hand down, hard, on Ian’s jeaned covered cock. Ian moans low and his eyes flutter shut. “Mickey...” 

“Maybe I should make you cum now so you last.” Mickey’s voice is low and gruff against his ear. “Cause I want you to fuck me all night. Over and over. Until there’s not one drop of cum left in either of us.” 

Ian whimpers as Mickey presses harder against his straining cock and starts pushing back and forth causing just the right amount of friction to make Ian lose his fucking mind.   
“Been thinking about fucking you raw.” Ian blurts out and immediately has to look around to make sure now of the other passengers heard him. Luckily, no one is even paying attention to them. 

Mickey hums slowly in Ian’s ear. “Oh yeah, Red? Been thinking about sliding that big cock inside my ass? Shooting your load deep inside me and watching it leak out, down my thighs? You’d love that, wouldn’t you? You told me you love my legs.” 

Ian is shaking. Shaking because he’s going to come any second, if Mickey says one more thing- 

“What if I let you use a plug on me to keep it in there?” 

Yup that’s it. Ian comes with a strangled whine and grips Mickey’s wrist tightly as his whole-body shudders through his orgasm. Mickey just places a soft kiss to his neck and goes back to looking out the window of the train, keeping his hand on Ian’s lap. 

Ian breathes hard, in and out, and turns to stare at his boyfriend. “Jesus, Mickey.” 

Mickey just smiles but never turns to look at him. Just squeezes his hand harder.  
  
~*~*~*~*  
  
 ** _I surrender who I've been for who you are  
For nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart   
If I had only felt how it feels to be yours   
Well I would have known   
What I've been living for all along_**  
  
Ian seems more relaxed once they reach Mickey’s apartment. He’s got this blissed out smile on his face and Mickey can't help but smile himself at it. He unlocks the door and kicks off his boots and Ian is right behind him, throwing his sneakers wherever he damn well pleases and any other night he would have given him shit for it, but not tonight. Tonight isn't about that. Tonight, is about them. And Mickey plans to make sure Ian has no more doubts about the two of them. Not in bed or out. 

Mickey wastes no time stripping himself of his shirt and unbuckling his jeans as he walks toward the bedroom. He looks over his shoulder to find Ian gaping at him, stuck near the front door. 

“You coming, Gallagher, or am I doing this myself?” 

Ian stumbles, like a newborn deer, and strips so fast, Mickey is pretty sure he heard his shirt tear. Mickey chuckles to himself and Ian is on him almost instantly, twisting Mickey in his arms and pressing him hard against the wall beside the bedroom. Ian’s mouth is hot and wet against Mickey’s and then its licking down his neck and biting at his shoulder. Mickey hands are everywhere; gripping and raking his fingertips down Ian’s pale back as the rut against each other like teenagers. 

“I’m going to take you apart.” Ian moans, hands slipping underneath Mickey’s boxers to squeeze his ass. Mickey groans and latches his mouth hotly to Ian’s neck. 

“Please.” Mickey pleads, not giving two fucks how needy he sounds. He always promised himself he’d never let himself be anyone’s bitch. But that all went out the fucking window when he met Ian Gallagher. And maybe it means Mickey is growing up. Maybe it means he’s letting himself have good things. Maybe Ian is changing him. It doesn’t matter what it is, because it doesn’t matter. He wants Ian. All of him. In every possible way. 

They stumble into the bedroom, tearing the rest of each other's clothes off as Ian keeps pushing him further and further into the room, closer and closer to the bed. Once Ian’s boxers are off and somewhere else in the room, Mickey grabs him around the hips and throws him onto the bed, Mickey sliding his body on top of his with a pornographic roll of his hips. Ian hisses through his teeth and grabs Mickey’s bare ass with both hands and kneads his fingers hard into them. 

“Christ, your ass, Mick.” 

“You are so fucking hard.” Mickey licks a long, slow line down Ian’s chest, looking up at him the whole time, holding Ian’s gaze and doesn’t stop until he hits the tip of Ian’s dick, lying swollen and leaking against his abs. He flicks his tongue quickly over the tip, tasting him. Ian’s pupils blow and he lifts his hips off the edge of the bed, chasing Mickey’s mouth. 

Mickey’s been dreaming about Ian’s cock. He can feel it every night and morning, pressing against his ass during sleep but seeing it, feeling it, hard and wet and red in front of his face, a wave of need washes over him that he’s never felt in his entire life. It's not just because he’s horny; its everything about Ian. It's this man in his bed. He wants Ian. Just Ian. 

Mickey sucks the tip of Ian’s cock and Ian is settling up on his elbows looking down as Mickey lips swallow Ian down. Ian is big, its nothing new, but he wants make Ian feel the best he’s ever felt in his life and Mickey may have a few tricks up his sleeve that Ian doesn’t quite know about yet. 

Like his lack of a gag reflex. 

Mickey breathes out through his nose and takes Ian all the way down to the base of his cock, eyes watering but never leaving Ian’s gaze. Ian hits the back of his throat and Mickey just moans at the feeling and Ian’s mouth is hanging open and gasping for air like he’s the one deep throating. 

“Oh my god. Are you fucking kidding me?” Ian reaches out and runs his fingers along Mickey’s hollowed cheek. “Fuck Mickey, your mouth. Yeah, suck it.” 

Ian’s words go right to Mickey’s dick and he speeds up, bobbing up and down, faster and sucking harder, taking every inch of Ian inside his throat. He has spit running down his chin but he doesn’t care. Because Ian is losing his fucking mind. He’s moaning and muttering curses as he grabs at Mickey’s hair on his crown and every so often bucks up hard into Mickey’s mouth. Mickey may seem like one tough son of a bitch, and he is, but he is the neediest fucking bottom. And he doesn’t care. Because liking what he likes don’t make him a bitch. 

Mickey pulls off, gasping for breath and Ian just groans loudly, pulling Mickey up by his hair and smashes his mouth onto his. “By the time this night is over, I’m gonna cum all over your mouth, but if I don’t get in your ass soon, I might literally die.” 

Mickey chuckles against his lips and rubs his throbbing cock against Ian’s now wet one. “Then do it.” 

Ian growls, grabbing Mickey by his hips and flips them, almost falling off the end of the bed. They laugh and Mickey jabs him in the ribs and Mickey wonders if anything else could ever be this good. Yeah, the sex before had been mind numbing, but this...this is comfort, happiness, and Mickey isn't sure, but he’s pretty sure...love. 

Mickey gets himself up on the bed on his back and Ian disappears into the bathroom for a minute, coming back, dick swinging, with a bottle of lube and the box of condoms. “Aw, babe. You got magnums just for little old me?” He teases. 

“Ain’t nothing little about you, Red.” 

Ian grins at him wickedly and kneels on the bed, hovering over Mickey. He can feel Ian’s dick leaking onto his stomach and Ian’s eyes are filled with lust and affection and there are words threatening to escape his mouth and for once Mickey doesn’t care. His walls are completely down for the first time in his life. Torn down by a red haired, freckled faced man who came into his life like a fucking tornado but somehow settled the storm inside Mickey. 

“Ian...” 

Ian tilts his head, threading his fingers through Mickey’s hair, pushing it off his forehead. Mickey’s never seen Ian’s eyes so green; so pure, so clear. He’s never looked at Mickey like this; with just such pure admiration and honesty. Mickey knows he owes him the same. 

“I’m falling for you, man.” 

Ian breathes out heavily out of his nose and his eyes slide flutter shut. His neck blushes red and Mickey watches as Ian swallows down emotion. 

“I fell in love with your voice, first.” Ian admits, not opening his eyes. Mickey can't help but smile. “I heard it every day and somehow I just knew...I can't explain it. It sounds nuts, I know. But...I guess I am a little crazy.” 

Mickey reaches up between them and rubs his thumb along Ian’s bottom lip. “Nah. Man, when I saw you in that coffee shop, you threw me off. Like why the fuck was this hot motherfucker talkin to me, you know? And you were all nervous and fumbling and shit and I don’t know. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

Ian smiles and kisses him softly. “And now here we are.” 

“Mmm. Here we are.” 

They kiss slowly, tongues sliding against each other, leisurely and with just soft presses of lips. Ian keeps rolling his hips ever so often; sliding his cock against Mickey’s in a torturous and seductive way. “I’ve never felt this way before.” Ian whispers. 

“Me either.” 

Ian hums against Mickey’s mouth and Mickey wraps his arms around Ian, bring him flush against his chest. “I need to be inside you.” 

“Yeah...” Mickey breathes out. “Yeah.” 

Ian slicks up his fingers clumsily but Mickey can only smile because its Ian and normally with any other guy he would have told them to hurry the fuck up but with Ian he just finds it cute. Ian presses his fingers deep in his ass and Mickey hisses at the sudden intrusion but fuck it hurts so good he can't help but push himself harder onto Ian’s hand and grip the sheets. Ian hums a low appreciative moan and moves in and out of Mickey’s hole slowly. But with every hard push in, he brushes Mickey’s sweet spot and Mickey can't help but make noises he’d only ever let Ian hear. 

“Ian, fuck.” Mickey is writhing as Ian just takes him apart, piece by piece with his fingers. He doesn’t know how Ian can do this to him. How a single soft kiss to Mickey’s cheek or shoulder can send chills up and down Mickey’s spine. How all Mickey wants to do is wrap himself around Ian and stay there for the rest of his life. When Ian pulls his fingers from him, Mickey winces and digs his fingers into Ian’s sides. 

“Shhh. I’m gonna fuck you. Don’t worry.” Ian reaches for the box of condoms and Mickey has a sudden rush of something probably totally irresponsible, and grabs Ian’s wrist. Ian looks at him, a wave of confusion on his face. 

“No.” 

It's such a simple word. And for two people about to have sex it usually means only one thing. But Ian knows that’s not what Mickey is saying. And Ian’s eyes go from wide to hooded with desire in seconds. 

“Are you serious?” He whispers. 

“I trust you. And I want it. I’m always careful and as long as you are...” 

“I am!” Ian answers quickly. “I’ve been tested every 6 months since that time I went totally nuts in high school. I’m clean.” Ian breathes out, suddenly seeming out of breath. “I’m clean.” 

“Me too.” 

Ian throws, fucking throws, the box of condoms clear across the room and kisses Mickey before they even hit the floor. Mickey shudders and realizes this is it. This is going to happen and its trust, and everything Mickey has been running from his entire life. And he’s terrified but he’s never been more sure of anything. 

Ian’s hands shake as he lubes up his cock, and Mickey keeps kisses any spot-on Ian’s skin that he can reach. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him. How someone who can be so hard and violent his entire life can find himself being so soft with another human being. But Ian deserves this. He deserves kisses and touches and he deserves to have all of Mickey. And Mickey knows, even after all the horrible things in this world he’s done, he deserves Ian too. 

All of Ian’s self-assurance and big dick top attitude is gone and now he just looks nervous and Mickey doesn’t want that. He pulls Ian against him and kisses him, grounding him back to him. “Come on, Gallagher. Fuck me.” 

Ian moans and lets his wet cock slide down Mickey’s balls and to his rim. Mickey can feel the tip against his hole, hot and slick and Mickey has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep himself from coming right then. 

“No, open your eyes. I need to see you when I get inside you. I need to see your eyes.” Ian pleads, voice thick with need. Mickey’s eyes open and Ian is right there, nose to nose to him and then he pushes and Mickey’s eyes widen because even though it doesn’t feel that different to him, it does feel warmer but it’s the look on Ian’s face that literally takes his breath away. His mouth is open but his eyes are wide and he’s biting his bottom lip and he’s letting out these small noises and Mickey doesn't think he’s ever looked so beautiful. 

“Holy fuck, Mick. God, I can feel everything.” 

Mickey wraps his legs around Ian’s waist and digs his heels into Ian’s back. His hands slide up Ian’s back and into his hair, holding onto the back of his head. He presses his forehead against Ian’s, never taking his eyes off his. 

“I’m yours.” Mickey whispers. 

And that’s all Ian needed. He growls, and grips Mickey’s hips so hard he knows he’s going to have bruises in the morning and starts thrusting in and out of him with long deep rolls of his hips. And Mickey takes it. Unable to keep his eyes open anymore, he pushes his head back against the pillow and holds onto Ian tightly. He lets himself go; moaning and whining deep in his chest as Ian just fucks him with everything he has. Its intense, and so intimate but Mickey can hear the slapping of Ian’s balls against his ass and how wet his hole is around Ian’s cock and its filthy and hot and Mickey didn’t know sex could be both. 

Mickey knows his orgasm is near; he’s been on the edge since the train and Ian’s abs keep brushing against his cock with each thrust and their wet with sweat and its delicious and grounding and Ian just keeps going faster and harder and Mickey’s hips are being lifted off the bed; Ian’s strong big hands underneath his ass and Mickey is just being used for Ian’s pleasure and he doesn’t mind. He welcomes it. Because this isn't just sex; Ian was right about that the first time. There is something deep between them. And if Mickey believed in thing like fate, he may think that maybe this was it. 

“Mickey...I... I’m...gonna...cum...” Ian can't catch his breath as he whispers, burying his face in Mickey’s neck and sucking and licking marks into his skin. Mickey just digs his fingertips into the back of Ian’s head, keeping his mouth on him; and tightens his hole around Ian’s cock and pushes down with each one of Ian’s thrusts. 

“Do it, Ian. Come in me. Fill me up.” 

Ian groans, so loud against Mickey's neck, Mickey’s skin vibrates. Ian thrusts a few more times and then his body tenses and he just pushes as deep as he possibly can inside Mickey and Mickey can feel it in his fucking stomach how deep Ian is. And its fucking amazing. Ian’s cock pulses 3 times, and Mickey feels heat inside his ass. Mickey moans; he can't help it. Just the feeling of Ian cumming inside him; and the whimpers Ian is making into his neck and the way his fingernails are digging into his ass; it's almost too much. Ian pulls out just a little once he stops cumming and then pushes back in and Mickey hears how slick and wet it is and that’s all it takes. He grips Ian’s shoulders and his cum splashes against his stomach and chest and Ian looks down to watch Mickey’s cock spurt and he starts slamming into him again and Mickey just keeps saying Ian’s name as his body becomes so sensitive with pleasure and over stimulation. 

Ian doesn’t stop fucking him until his cock is almost completely flaccid, and even then, he keeps it inside Mickey. He’s so big that he can stay in, with his hips flush against Mickey’s. He collapses on top of Mickey, spent and whining with pleasure. He keeps shaking and Mickey just rubs his back and kisses the side of his face over and over again; high off of endorphins and happiness. 

“Holy fucking shit.” 

“Mmm.” Mickey murmurs. They are filthy. And the sheets are going to need to be changed and they need a shower, but neither of them can move. 

“That was so much better than the first time.” Ian mumbles against Mickey’s shoulder. 

“Told you.” Mickey breathes out weakly. 

“I don’t ever want to pull out.” 

“Gonna have to, Gallagher. We’re disgusting.” 

“Yeah, but it's so good.” 

“Well, we can do it whenever you want.” 

Ian sighs. “Let’s live together.” 

Mickey tenses and has to remember to breathe. He doesn’t say anything for a long time and when Ian’s cock finally slides out of him with a wet sound, he finally lets out his breath. 

“Too fast again, sorry.” 

Mickey just swallows and rubs Ian’s back. “Okay, but I pick the garbage can.” 

Ian laughs and pulls back enough to look down at Mickey. He looks happy. And Mickey is too. 

“Deal.” 

Mickey kisses him gently. “And one more thing.” 

“Anything.” 

Mickey breathes out through his nose and takes a huge step forward. Even bigger than letting Ian fuck him raw. Even bigger than letting Ian move in. 

“I want to go Chris’s grave. And I want you to come with me.”


	9. I found a dream that I could speak to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian helps Mickey say goodbye.
> 
> Ian and Mickey have an unusual date.
> 
> The future is wide open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it guys, the end. I really love this fic and its my baby. And I thank each and everyone of you who read and commented. It means so much to me. I hope this ending brings a smile to your face because I may have teared up when I finished writing it. 
> 
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH. 
> 
> And a big thank you to Aelia_Gioia for all the help with this fic. You are my fic soulmate <3

  
  
  
**_Maybe in another life  
I could find you there  
Pulled away before your time  
I can't deal it's so unfair_**  
  
Fall leaves crunch under their feet and Mickey could smell the outdoor fires and fireplaces coming to life with the first hint of fall. His shoulder keeps bumping with Ian’s as they walk and he can tell Ian wants to hold his hand the way his fingers keep brushing against his, but Mickey is having a hard time concentrating on things that Ian wants in this moment. It wasn’t the physical act of holding Ian’s hand; Mickey's pretty much given up trying to keep himself from doing all the gay shit Ian wants when it came to their relationship. Because Ian’s crap is all over Mickey’s apartment now; there is Irish Spring and that organic flower body wash crap in his shower and Ian has like 10 pairs of shoes scattered around the bedroom and living room and even one pair underneath the table they eat at. Mickey’s polo shirts that he wears to work are hung in the closet next to Ian’s EMT shirts and Ian even irons Mickey’s shirts now for him even though Mickey has never ironed a fucking thing he’s ever worn. 

Mickey gets fruit packed in his lunch now; because Ian packs him a fucking lunch like a grade schooler. Mickey has gotten used to that wheat beer Ian insists on buying and Mickey has also realized he likes the taste of Coconut milk. But Ian’s gotten used to Mickey’s shit too. Like the gun in the bedside table drawer that Ian smirks at every time he opens it to get the lube out. Ian has watched almost 3 seasons of Sons of Anarchy with him; Mickey’s favorite show of all time; and he curses and gasps at all the right spots like he’s really paying attention. Ian is quiet when he knows Mickey needs just a few minutes of peace and he’s attentive and affectionate exactly when Mickey needs it most. 

They are two completely different types of people who fit together so easily it makes Mickey question almost every single thing he’s ever known or believed about the universe and people and evolution and time and space and all that fucking shit. 

Mickey loves Ian. And Ian loves him. 

It's ridiculous. 

But kinda perfect. 

So no, Mickey isn't holding Ian’s hand right now as they walk silently through the southside to the cemetery. Because Mickey knows, as much as Ian wants to hold his hand, he won't try to because he knows Mickey and Ian knows the kind of head space Mickey is in right now. And for a second Mickey may think that makes him love Ian even more. 

It’s a small cemetery. The South Side isn't exactly known to have a lot of beautiful big things in it, but Mickey has known quite a few people who have been buried here in his life. One is Chris. The other is his mother. Ian doesn’t know that part. He isn't sure yet if he’s going to be revealing that information today. Or ever. There's just so much history Mickey can muster up the courage to tell Ian in a 4-month span. And uncovering and diving into the saga and trauma of his mother is a whole ‘nother world Mickey isn't sure he’s ready to relive. 

Mickey is just standing at the entrance to the cemetery; it's really just a path that winds around a whole bunch of annoying times through a small area of headstones, but he feels so small standing there. He hasn’t been back here since he was 14; he had come to see his Mom’s grave after he had gotten his knuckle tattoos. He remembers sitting in front of her grave crying, because he knew now that he had done it; now that he had finally given his final sense of self over to his father; he’d never be anything more than the trash everyone thought his family was. 

He had never come here to see Chris. 

“You don’t have to do this.” Ian whispers. 

Mickey finally looks at him and Ian’s hair is unstyled; not one ounce of product in it; and its wisping all around his forehead from the fall wind and Mickey thinks he looks so young like that. The freckles he had from the summer sun are starting to fade, but Mickey can see still them, faintly, on Ian’s face this close up. Ian’s eyes are green, like they always are; but there is so much emotion behind them and Mickey isn't sure which one to hold onto in that moment. 

“Kinda do though.” 

Ian just shrugs and digs his hands into his jeans pockets and waits for Mickey. He’s been doing that lately. Waiting for him. To get over one hurdle at a time. It’s a weird thing to see and feel; to have someone care this much to give Mickey space to be himself, or to slowly make himself more comfortable. He’d never been given that chance before. It was terrifying and felt so safe all at once. 

Mickey gives no motion that he intends to enter, he just goes, trying not to sike himself out and his boots are making loud thuds on the concrete as he eyes the gravestones along the path. Again, it's not a big cemetery, but Mickey feels like he’s never been so lost. 

It takes him about 5 minutes to finally find it; and when he does his knees give out a little. He can feel Ian near, but in reality, he’s pretty far back from where Mickey is standing. Again, giving him space to do what he needs to do and there is an aching in his chest and Mickey doesn’t know if it's because Chris’s name is taunting him on granite or because his love for Ian in this moment is the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. 

**Christopher Leonard Patterson**

**1993-2013**

**Son, brother, friend**

Mickey sniffs and rubs his thumb against his bottom lip; his tell for when he was nervous. Fuck. Almost 7 years. It took him fucking 7 years to do this. To stop being such a pussy and man up and come and see the boy he fucking killed. Because no matter how you spin it; no matter how many people tell Mickey it wasn’t his fault; it really fucking is. He knew what would happen if his dad found out. He knew what being involved with him meant. What it would cause. But Mickey was selfish because he had finally found something good through all the shit and he didn’t want to let it go. He didn’t love Chris; not like that, not like he fucking loves Ian; but he cared. He fucking cared for that kid and its Mickey’s fault he’s dead. Nah, maybe he isn't the one who actually killed him; but he caused the shit that made him want to do it. 

“I knew him.” 

Mickey turns and looks sharply at Ian. ”What?” 

“Chris Patterson. He uh, was a regular at the Fairy Tale. I used to dance there when I was like 16, 17. When I was manic. He was nice. Respectful.” Ian gives Mickey a soft look. “He was sick too.” 

“The fuck you mean?” 

Ian brings his bottom lip into his mouth. “Even though I didn’t want to admit I was sick, I knew I was. And I knew he was too.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“I’m not trying to...never mind.” 

Mickey eyes Ian; he’s nervous now. Unsure of how to stand next to Mickey; if he’s too close or not close enough. Mickey can actually see Ian beating himself up through his facial expressions as if he’s pissed, he even said anything. Mickey sighs. 

“He used to take these pills sometimes when we were together. I had asked him once what they were. Just told me they were his gay pills.” Mickey snorts at the memory. “You remind me of him sometimes.” 

“Because we are both nuts?” 

Mickey shakes his head. “Nah. Just...stuff. It's nothing.” 

“It's okay if I remind you of him. It doesn’t bother me.” Ian steps a few inches closer to Mickey. “You cared about him. There were people I cared about before you. It's okay to have a past.” 

Mickey just stares at the headstone; worn from elements and a bundle of dead flowers just lying there like no one had been here in a long time to bring fresh ones. 

“It was pills.” 

Ian just nods. “That’s what I used to.” 

Mickey doesn’t mean to say it, but it just comes out. “Guess I have a type.” He regrets it the second it exits his mouth but it doesn’t faze Ian. Ian just smirks a little and reaches his long pale fingers out to touch the stone. 

“The wounded.” 

“Nah, strong.” 

It's Ian’s turn to look at him with a wide-eyed expression. He meets Ian’s eyes and finally reaches his hand out for Ian’s. Ian takes it slowly; their cold hands finding warmth. 

“I wish I could have done something. I wish I had done something. I should have come and seen you. Made sure you were okay. I should have answered when you called me that day. I should have done something. I’m sorry.” Mickey whispers to ghosts. He’s been dodging them for years, and may for the rest of his life. But in this moment, they don’t seem as scary as they used to be with Ian’s hand firmly tucked in his. 

They stand there for a while longer; the air getting cooler around them as the sun threatens to set and finally Mickey looks beyond the grave into another small patch of tombstones in the distance. He knows his mom is over there. But that’s a battle for another day. He can only take so many ghosts at a time. 

“We can go.” 

Ian nods and rubs the hand that isn't clutched in Mickey’s along the gravestone and gives it a little smile. “Nice to meet you Chris. I’ll take care of him for you. I promise.” 

Mickey wants to huff out a laugh. Make a sarcastic comment about Ian’s gayness or softness but instead a loud sob escapes his throat and before he can even blink Ian has his arms wrapped around him so tightly Mickey isn't sure if the reason he can't breathe is because his face is pressed into Ian’s coat or because he can't stop the assault of tears and whimpers bubbling up from the darkest parts of him. He lets himself cry; Ian’s hand on the back of his head, rubbing circles into his neck. He cries for Chris, who he wasn’t strong enough to save. He cries for his mother, who protected him until the day she died. He cries for his sister, who he misses in this moment more than anything. He cries for his brothers; wherever they are. And he cries for himself; for all the years he lost, being lost himself. 

Ian lets him, sometimes sniffling himself, but never letting go of Mickey with his warm strong arms. Mickey doesn’t understand how someone as broken as Ian can be so strong at the same time. Maybe Ian was right. He does have a type. He likes men who are broken and jagged but strong enough to pick themselves up and learn to love through it all. Mickey wonders, a lot, if he could have done anything for Chris. Maybe, maybe not. But Chris was strong for being who he was with no shame. Just like Ian. And Mickey was learning to do that too. 

The sun sets behind them as they leave Mickey’s ghosts behind for the day. 

This time Mickey holds Ian’s hand as they walk.  
  
~*~*~*~*~**~*~*  
  
 ** _At last the skies above are blue  
My heart was wrapped up clover the night I looked at you  
I found a dream that I could speak to  
A dream that I can call my own  
I found a thrill to press my cheek to_**  
  
Mickey is quiet as they walk through their old neighborhood and decide to grab some beer and go to the abandoned building from that first time they hung out. But as they pass the baseball fields, Mickey suddenly stops and grins, and makes a head gesture for Ian to follow him. 

They jump the fence; Mickey going over first and Ian shoving the beer over as he flips over the fence a lot easier than Mickey did. Mickey scoffs, muttering ‘show off’ under his breath and wastes no time cracking open a beer and downing it in 4 large gulps. He burps; Ian wonders how Mickey can make anything sexy; and stretches his arms over his head like he’s trying to loosen the seriousness of the day out of himself. 

Ian just watches with a smile as he leans against the metal fencing of the dugout watching his boyfriend open another beer and take a few sips before reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes. Ian wonders if this was what Mickey was like when he was younger. Unapologetic, rough around every edge. Ian knows if he had known Mickey then, really known him; if it had been Ian sneaking around with Mickey instead of Chris; he would have fallen in love with him then too. 

Ian can't help but push himself off the fencing and wrap his hands around Mickey’s face to kiss him, deep and hard; some of the exhale from Mickey’s cigarette seeping into his lungs. Mickey kisses him back, half smiling, but then deepening the kiss with his strong tongue and plump lips. 

“Mmm.” Mickey pulls back and licks his bottom lip, gnawing it with his teeth. 

“Sorry. You just looked so hot right then.” 

Mickey takes a long inhale of his cigarette and gives Ian that look; that cocky flirty look that Ian fucking just melts under. “You wanna get on me?” 

And Ian thinks, for just a second, that they are in public and he’s 23 years old and shouldn’t be doing this kinda shit; but Mickey is giving him that raised eyebrow look that’s actually a challenge and Ian never backs down from a challenge. 

Ian’s belt is undone and whipping out of his belt loops with a whispering snap before Mickey can even put his cigarette between his lips to undo his own jeans. He saunters past Ian, pushing his jeans down over his ass and hips, and leans face first into the fence, gripping his fingers through the holes, his pale ass on display for Ian. Ian lets out a loud groan and steps over to where Mickey is leaning over and just grabs his ass with firm grips and kneading fingers. Mickey pushes his ass back into Ian’s hands and like pure instinct, Ian falls to his knees in the dust of the dugout, not giving a shit about getting dirty or how fucking cold it is. There are goosebumps forming on the skin of Mickey’s ass under his palms and he just pulls Mickey’s ass cheeks apart and as if the universe is just completely on his side tonight; the moonlight gives Ian a perfect view of Mickey’s hole in front of his face. 

His entrance is still a little red and swollen from their sex last night and when Ian presses his face into Mickey’s ass and swipes his tongue along his hole, he can feel and taste himself, still, on Mickey. 

“Fuck, Mick. You still have some of my cum in you from last night. Fuck that’s hot.” Ian pokes the tip of his tongue inside Mickey and the reaction he gets out of Mickey; a loud moan and then shudder; makes up for the fact that this is probably the dirtiest thing he’s ever done. He knows Mickey showered this morning; because Ian showered with him; but just knowing Mickey has been walking around all day still with Ian’s cum inside him, sends an animalistic jolt through Ian’s body. “I’m getting you a plug. Fuck.” 

Mickey moans again above him, and pushes his ass into Ian’s face deeper. Ian licks and sucks at Mickey’s hole; his lips getting swollen and sore from the number he’s doing on Mickey’s ass. Mickey just takes it; hips rocking back and forth and Ian reaches down to grip Mickey’s swaying balls and Mickey loses his fucking mind. 

“Gallagher, I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that shit.” 

“You can cum like this or with my cock in your ass. You decide.” Ian tells him quickly before latching his mouth back onto Mickey’s opening. 

“Fuck me, please.” Mickey’s voice is desperate and needy and Ian doesn’t have to be asked twice when Mickey sounds like that. He stands, pushing his jeans down to his knees and spits into his hand generously to lube his cock. And with a few short pushes, he’s inside Mickey; fingers digging into Mickey’s hips in a bruising manner. Mickey lets out a content sigh as Ian bottoms out and even in this odd position, Ian cannot get over how perfect their bodies fit together. He sets a steady pace of long hard thrusts up into Mickey and Mickey just grips the fencing; white knuckling it as he pushes himself back, deeper and deeper, with every thrust. Ian knows Mickey needs this. He knows Mickey needs to forget today, even for just a few minutes. Ian knows they aren't the best at communicating, they may never be, but this, this they are good at. This is how they talk to each other. With moans and thrusts and deep pushes of hips. 

Mickey uses his mouth on Ian’s skin to say things that can't escape his lips into words. He uses his hands to touch Ian to say things that his brain and heart can't make himself admit. Mickey looks at Ian; sometimes it's just a short flick of his eyes over Ian’s face; and Ian knows exactly what Mickey is saying with those eyes. Maybe words are over rated. Ian thought his whole life he needed those words, but now, from being with Mickey, he knows he doesn’t need them like he thought he did. All he needs is Mickey. Mickey and the way he is muttering small curses and Ian’s name under his breath as he nears his orgasm. 

Ian can tell by the way Mickey’s ass is clenching around him as he fucks him hard and gritty into the fence, that Mickey is going to cum like this. And it makes Ian dizzy with love and desire and need. He bends his knees, just a little, to get the perfect angle up into Mickey’s body and when Mickey’s back stiffens and he practically screams, Ian knows he’s found the perfect spot and he just fucks, up, up, up, into Mickey until Mickey is shaking and gripping the fence so tightly, Ian is afraid he’s breaking the skin of on his fingers. 

Mickey cums with Ian’s name screaming from his throat and Ian is only 3 short thrusts behind him, mixing his new release with the one from the night before. He stays inside Mickey for almost a full minute; too warm and safe to pull out right away. But gravity is a bitch in this position and his cock softens and slides out, and Ian doesn’t think he will ever get tired of seeing how wet his cock is after he fucks Mickey when there is nothing between them. 

Mickey has his face pressed up against the fence now, eyes closed, mouth open and panting. Ian leans in, pressing a kiss to back of his neck and he pulls up his jeans and tucking himself back into his boxers. Mickey comes back to earth maybe 45 seconds later; after Ian’s already lit his own post sex cigarette. Mickey is wobblily on his legs and Ian feels pride swell in his chest. Mickey does a little hop to pull his jeans back up over those thighs that drive Ian fucking insane and does that stretch thing again like he did when they first got here. 

“I’ve always wanted to do that here!” He screams into the darkness. 

Ian laughs and hands him his half-smoked cigarette when Mickey finally turns to look at him, a happy grin etched across his face. Mickey drags on the cigarette; his eyes shining with emotion. 

“Get back at that little league commissioner for kicking me off my baseball team for pissing on first base.” Mickey laughs, smoke curling out from his nose. 

Ian smiles. “I remember.” 

Mickey raises his eyebrow at him. “You heard about that?” 

“I was playing second.” 

They share a smile and a look that says so many things without either of them saying anything at all. I remember you. I saw you even when you didn’t know I did. I wondered about you. Who would have thought this was where we would be? 

“We should head home. Work in the morning.” Ian reminds him and Mickey just rolls his eyes. 

They walk home together, occasionally bumping shoulders and pretending to tackle each other and laughing. Ian wonders again what it would have been like to know Mickey back then. If things would have worked out. If they would still be together. Ian will never know. But he is certain they are supposed to be in each other’s lives. 

Maybe forever.  
  
 **6 months later:**  
  
 _“Dispatch to all available units. We have a 10-C-1 in progress at 47 Elm. Any units who can respond?”_

Ian picks up the walkie and presses the button as he swallows a sip of his coffee. “This is unit 327. We can take it. 123 over.” 

Sue rolls his eyes and flips the lights on. 

_“Thank you, unit, 327. 123 over.”_

Ian shoves the walkie back into the base and smiles to himself as Sue rounds a corner doing 50. 

“You two aren't slick.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“No one says '123 over'. I know what that’s code for and I’m about to lose my breakfast all over you.” 

“You’re just jealous. Don’t be so bitter.” 

Sue huffs and screeches to a stop outside the house where the call for ‘abnormal breathing’ is taking place. “I gotta hand it to you, Gallagher. When you want something you really stop at nothing until you get it.” 

Ian grabs shoves his door open and gives his partner one last smile. 

“What can I tell you? There’s just something about his voice.”


End file.
